


The Smuggler's Moon

by Jessa



Series: Night Crawler [3]
Category: Finnrose, Reylo - Fandom, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, finnlo - Fandom, finnreylo - Fandom
Genre: Anal Play, Anxiety, Attempts at humour, Ben loves Rey, Bisexuality, Canon Compliant, Cats, Childhood Memories, Dacryphilia, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Reylo sexual content, F/M, Fatherhood, Female Masturbation, FinnReylo dynamics (Rey fantasising and watching), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foot Fetish, Foot Massage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Love, M/M, Male Bonding, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Moral Ambiguity, NSFW, Night Terrors, Nipple Play, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, References to Menstruation, Reylo - Freeform, Reylo HEA, SwoloFic, The Force, Toe-sucking, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, ben and finn like to role-play, ben and finn role-play with a collar and leash and finn is the dom ben is sub, ben and kylo are personas of the same person, ben and rey like to role-play, ben is uncircumcised, casual references to death, casual references to domestic violence, committed relationships, discussions about cuckolding, dom!finn, dom!rey, dubious consent although it's more like sub!ben, dubious uses of the force (dub-con uses of the force), fetish fighting, finn loves rose, finnlo, finnlo toe sucking, finnlo wet dreams, finnrose - Freeform, finnrose HEA, finnrose angst and distant hurt/comfort, force-bond dreams, implied alcoholism (ben), implied jealousy/suspicion, implied pregnancy - secondary character (rose and finn), implied slavery (secondary characters), knife play kink, lavish bordering on improper use of italics, men objectifying men, mild medical gore, references to infidelity, references to murder and killing, reylo handjobs, sensory deprivation (ben has a thing for blindfolds apparently), soft S&M, sometimes there's a bit of dom!ben/kylo but rey's still the boss, sub!Ben, tags will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-08-05 06:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 87,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessa/pseuds/Jessa
Summary: One year has passed since Rey, Ben and the Resistance left Kashyyyk at the end of Night Crawler. At that time, Ben made the choice to defect from the First Order, but the timing wasn't right - he had a vision, the Force told him - they all had to wait for the Resistance to strengthen, or at least make some allies first.While that all happened, Ben went back to the warship and faked it for a bit longer as Supreme Leader. Rey skipped around the Outer Rim with the Resistance, mostly living on ships. Rey and Ben didn't have much contact, but they were still in love.Now - somehow - they've all just survived the splintering of the FO; it's still around, but it's very fractured, and it had something to do with the Resistance, a fire and a bunch of stim-shots someone gave Ben. So they’re hiding in Han's old apartment on Nar Shaddaa, otherwise known as the Smuggler's Moon...





	1. Thirst

**Author's Note:**

> This series is pretty much Reylo until end of #16. From #17 it begins exploring Finnreylo, Finnlo and Finnrose dynamics as well as more Reylo.
> 
> This work includes references to bisexuality/pansexuality so if that makes you uncomfortable please feel free to avoid reading further. This work also includes references to Reylo as an open relationship and again please avoid if that's not your thing either. 
> 
> Pregnancy (Finnrose) is explicitly mentioned in Chapter 27. Several chapters refer to fatherhood (Finn becoming a father, Ben thinkng a lot about his father and patricide). I'm Jessa on Discord and @jesssssah on tumblr if you want to message and ask more questions to avoid any other triggers or just in general questions about the work. I really love talking about ideas and I'm happy to debate!
> 
> Now all that's said, I really hope you enjoy this work. I've deleted it a couple of times over the last six months in frustration but I do love writing it when I'm able to. Please feel free to leave comments, I really value them and thank you for taking the time to consider this fic. Please feel free to get in touch if you'd like to talk about any of the themes in this fic. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 1. Part 1 of 5. Rey.
> 
> In response to the ‘Thirst’ prompt from @two-halves-of-reylo.
> 
> Thanks to harpiaharpya for beta reading this chapter.

Ben's lips taste of sweat and smoke, and the inside of him like things much worse; the flavors of battle still cling to his battered body. Rey supports his weight beneath the moderate flow of water streaming from the ‘fresher in Han’s old apartment on Nar Shaddaa. This is the start of it; hiding with Ben from the fallout.

Rivulets run down him in pink streaks, the color of the juice of a rare Bantha steak if you’re lucky enough to eat it with utensils over a plate and can appreciate that sort of detail. There’ve been times since the Resistance left Kashyyyk when Rey has been lucky enough to do all these things – to use both utensils and plates, and to appreciate details – but she can’t say the same about holding Ben; they haven't seen each other in nearly a year.

“Brace,” she warns him.

Frowning at the cauterized blaster burns that pepper his chest, Rey shifts her hand to the still open wound at his abdomen and digs in deep with her fingers for what she hopes is the final time. As he hisses out through his teeth, tears prickle in tandem at the corners of their eyes from the pain he can feel, and she can sense.

“I’m nearly done,” she whispers, feeling his hard muscles start to convulse. “I promise.”

Ben begins the low growl again, so just like before Rey stops, removes her fingers and re-inspects them. Barely any plasma remains within the wound. The medical droid can probably clear the rest later; for now, she senses all Ben really needs is bacta and sleep. They both need sleep.

Rey shuts off the ‘fresher and leads him slowly to the sonic, still with his broad upper arms held firm in her small hands. They’re both covered in bruises but his seem worse, perhaps because his skin is still so pale. Rey’s seen daylight but Ben’s remained on ships since they parted ways in the Mytaranor sector. They’d agreed on that together in the end; that if they could, it was best just to wait.

To wait until what Ben had seen was possible, when they'd last been physically together in the dirt on Kashyyyk. To wait until Force-connections could be a thing of the past. To wait until today.

Rey activates the sonic and runs her eyes down the back of Ben's body as the needles of cold air begin to work their way up from the soles of their feet. His bruising is largely confined to his right side, she notices now; the side he fell to when Chewie injured him. That was purposeful. They’d planned that, not wanting to re-open the older scar with a fresh hit.

“Nearly there,” Rey whispers again.

She puts her palm to his cleaned wound, protecting it from the fine jets of air that move steadily higher, until she feels the concentrated flows of it lift her hair before watching them lift Ben’s, too. When the cycle completes, she leads him carefully to the bedroom.

“Can you sit here a minute?” she murmurs, as she helps him find the black satin sheets that dress the bed, and he comes to rest there, her hands still supporting his upper body.

 _Yeah,_  he thinks back, eyes still closed.

“Drink this,” Rey says, holding a glass to his lips with one hand and supporting his head with the other as he takes in a sip of the water. “Can you hold it?”

Ben grunts, raising one hand slowly.

“Keep sipping,” she urges, patting dry the wound at his flank with a clean piece of cloth before beginning to apply the bacta with her fingers.

Rey feels him grimace.

“One more, then I’m done, I promise,” she says, gently. “Hold tight.”

She feels him tense again. Knowing he’s bracing and ready, she smears the gelatinous substance across him for a final time then wipes her hand clean on the cloth.

“Just the dressing to go,” she murmurs, breaking the steri-seal with her teeth. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he croaks, opening his eyes. “Are you?”

Rey sighs, still holding the dressing by its edges. She lifts her eyes to stare out the window above them at the head of the bed, and gaze at the night sky outside. It’s so different to Kashyyyk’s, where she could only ever see the pollution in the mornings. Here, you can see it day round. She drops her gaze from the view and returns her focus to Ben.

“Yes,” Rey answers, as she takes the glass from his hand, sets it on the sill and then lays him down. “I’m okay.”

His head comes to rest on the black satin pillow, and hers does the same on its twin.

“You must be thirsty, too,” he murmurs, turning his groggy head to face her.

Rey rolls to her side and reaches out to touch the old scar at his cheek. As she strokes along the faint line with the pads of her first two fingers, every so often she hears the slow swish again. Through Ben’s labored breaths she tries to listen harder to the sounds of the speeders below, shifting air through the rain on the streets of the Smuggler's Moon. There are big gaps between these sounds. Rey remembers these gaps. She used to tell the time of morning just from these.

She’d learnt to do that on the second night she’d spent here, so long ago now; as the gaps grew shorter, the day grew nearer, and back then that meant time to leave him, to return to Kashyyyk. But there is none of that panic now; the gaps are still long, it's still night, but there's no urgent call to leave here. Because when the dawn does eventually break, when the gaps in the sounds become indistinguishable, there’ll be nowhere else to go then anyway, to hide from the instability which grips the galaxy now.

As rain beats at the window Rey leans across to kiss Ben’s mouth and then rolls to her belly, props herself up and stares at the drops that glisten across the glass outside the retro-fit transparisteel. This room is very different to how she remembers it, even though the sounds are the same.

Rey returns her gaze to Ben, snoring softly on the satin pillow.

“Very thirsty,” she whispers in answer, as she leans in to once again kiss the sleeping mouth she’s missed so much.


	2. How It Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 1. Part 2 of 5. Ben.

Ben lies on his back and tunes in to two sounds. The first belongs to rain; a chaotic drill against the window above where he and Rey subsist now, and she’s the second. He rests beside her warmth and listens to her breathe.

 _This isn’t just hiding,_  he thinks to himself as he opens his eyes.  _This is the start of living with Rey._

Ben’s stomach flips at the thought of how close she is again, and the idea makes him sigh without thinking, and then he winces; he’s been consciously breathing shallow because the deeper ones still hurt, although his pain is steadily improving.

He can sense the bacta, knitting the interior of his body back together. The burns at his chest have responded to the healing field generator she used before they washed, but he knows his bruising is deep, and it hurts every time he moves. He longs to feel stronger.

Ben closes his eyes and pictures his pain in an effort to control it. He imagines Rey surrounding the places that pound in his body as thrilling memories of her keep flooding back to him, and they make his heart race. He wants to touch her, to stroke at her cheek or to roll towards her and pull her nearer. He’s aching to fuck her, it’s been far too long since he’s been able to do that.

Earlier, through the haze of exhaustion he’d felt as she stripped and washed his body, treated his wounds and helped him to bed, he sensed the nerves in her. Anxious thoughts start to leach through him, too, and Ben’s stomach churns now as they start a plague in him; he’s just as cautious about this arrangement. What if she’s planning to leave once he’s healed? Will she take him with her, to wherever she goes next? Ben opens his eyes, because he wants to ask her. He needs to know.

She’s snuggled between the black satin sheets he chose. Does she like them? He hopes she’s comfortable there, and that she wants to stay. Are they too much? Black satin. He likes satin, likes the feel of it against his bare skin, but he knows he does have a tendency to do that when it comes to her: way too much. He doesn’t want to push her away, smother her. He needs to check it.

“Overkill?” he asks her softly, tilting his face towards the gentle snuffle sounds she makes as he watches her sleep. “Sweetheart?”

Is that too much? Calling her  _sweetheart?_  He doesn’t recall a time he’s ever called her anything but  _Rey_  or  _Mistress_...

 _I should say that again,_  he thinks to himself.  _Check that, too. Check how it sounds._

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.

There’s a little gap between where they lie, even though she’s curled towards him and, as she’s slept, worked one bent knee beneath his own.

“Why are you so far away?” Ben murmurs to her, reaching down to her thigh with his closest hand and shaping his palm to its warm contour.

Rey breathes through her mouth when she sleeps. Does she know that? He’s noticed that before, and although he hasn’t seen her sleep for months and months he hasn’t forgotten the sight of it. He smiles at her. She’s beautiful, even in sleep. He’s missed her so much.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, again.

 _It does sound nice,_  Ben thinks to himself.  _Completely different to Mistress._

“Mistress,” he whispers. “Sweetheart.”

“Ben, what the fuck are you mumbling?”

“Shit,” he mutters, startled and jolting in response because he hadn’t sensed her wake, wincing as the sudden movement jars his internal bruising again. “Nothing.”

“You were muttering something,” she says sleepily, as her eyes open just a crack and he watches her blink under the orange light that filters in through the open cedar venetian blinds at the window; she hadn’t bothered closing them before, he guesses.

Ben wants to smooth the strands of hair that cling to Rey’s cheek, but he can’t quite reach to there from where he lies, still flat on his back. He’d need to shift to do that, to roll to his side and then he could reach. Slowly, he raises his far knee and tries to push off from his heel.

“Ben,” she warns.

“What?” he replies, cautiously lifting his hip and slowly bearing weight on his elbow.

“Lie still,” she says, sounding less sleepy. “You need to rest.”

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, as he attempts the roll.

 _Ah, fuck,_  he thinks, not wanting to say it aloud and alert her, even though he knows she must be listening to his head by now, to the pain he’s trying to swallow as it shoots through him again when he attempts to twist, because he desperately wants to roll over and close the remaining gap between them. Close it tight.

“I was listening, Ben, and I did hear that,” she reprimands, lifting herself up and resting on her far forearm, bringing the one nearest to his chest, gently pushing him back down with it, back down flat again to the bed.

“Heard what?” he asks, as in his head Ben grins up at her, even though he knows his face must still look like some kind of monster and he hopes she can still see through the mask, even after all this time.

“It’s not fine, Ben,” she cuts, but now she’s grinning, too, in both her head and on her beautiful face. “You need to lie still.”

“I’m fine now,” he murmurs, looking down at himself. “Look how fucking fine I am.”

“If you’re so fine,” Rey says, still grinning and leaning in to brush her soft lips against his, “Then I’ll go and get the med droid to stitch you up now.”

“Fuck that, you can do that after,” Ben whispers, as he tilts his chin and catches her lower lip between his, sucking at her lightly.

 _Can I now?_  she thinks back, as Rey closes her lips around his top one and bites at him there very gently.  _You do remember there’s a hole running almost right through you, right?_

 _You’ve got some holes too,_  Ben thinks back, as he hears and feels her soft snort of shock and she draws away a little, but with her lips still close.

“Oh, my fucking stars, you horny prick,” she murmurs.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Ben whispers, as he feels a thrill go through him, and as it does he imagines it's light - she's light - and that light of hers is soaking at his pounding body, shrinking his pain. “And I’ve missed you so fucking much,  _Mistress...”_


	3. Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 1. Part 3 of 5. Rey.

"I love you, too, _"_  Rey breathes, smirking as she leans over him again. _"Kylo."_

"Whoa..."

"You don't like that anymore?" she whispers.

His dark eyes have widened significantly and she can hear his breath.

"You called me  _Mistress,"_  she adds, quickly, "And so I just thought that..."

His hand pulls her down to him just as quickly. Their mouths connect and his tongue works its way deep inside her.

 _When we're like this,_  he thinks, still staring deep into her eyes as he kisses her.  _You can still call me that anytime you want._

Rey smiles into his mouth. Their upper bodies don't touch, apart from their mouths - and his hand at the back of her head - and Rey wonders how close she can get now to Ben without hurting him. She brings a hand to his chest and lightly strokes across it with the pads of her fingers, feeling the scabbed burns beneath them as well as the hard contours of his pecs.

 _Does this hurt?_  she thinks, using the bond because her mouth is still full of his tongue.

 _No,_  he thinks back.

He shifts his other hand down to the bare curve of her hip and then further. Gently, Rey works her mouth away and begins to brush her lips across his.

"What about this?" she whispers.

She shifts closer towards him and carefully lifts her thigh over one of his, bringing down the meat of it gently on top.

“No," Ben murmurs. "Sweetheart doesn’t hurt Kylo.” 

 _“Sweetheart,”_  she repeats, weighing the sounds again as they drift through the air between them.  _"Kylo."_

Rey feels his fingers hovering above the cleft of her arse. Then he begins to slowly trace up and down the valley it makes, and the muscles deep between her thighs clench in a way she's sorely missed. As she gazes into his dark eyes, she senses how tender he still is and where, although his efforts to self-heal continue and she senses those, too. The feeling of those had woken her, she realizes now, as well as the deep, rhythmic sounds of his voice as he’d murmured things while she drifted back to all this from a brief but deep sleep.

Ben lifts his mouth to hers and begins a soft kiss, his hand still teasing at her from the back, at the valley between her legs.

 _Do you still like this?_ he thinks.  _From the back?_

She smiles into his mouth, as both his hand and kiss soothe her. She tunes in to the sounds of the rain which still beats above them at the window.

 _Yes,_  she thinks.

His eyes are just slits now, but Rey can still see through to them, beyond his dark lashes, through to the way they flick to her own and flutter across the view he has of her face.

 _It’s on your mind, too, isn't it?_  she thinks, sensing.

 _Fucking you in the dirt?_  he thinks back.

Rey laughs into his kiss and Ben winces as their ribs collide.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she whispers, pulling her body back from Ben quickly, but he hangs on to her with the arm still slung beyond her hip and grabs her there, between her cheeks, even as she feels him bracing in pain again beneath her.

“Don’t pull away,” he mutters, voice shaking slightly.

“I could get another stim-shot,” she says instinctively, not wanting to stop. "If you want."

"Yeah," he murmurs, slowly. "Okay." 

She knows he doesn't want to stop either. Rey reaches behind herself to the drawer in the small table beside the bed and pulls it open. She fumbles for a moment and then withdraws the small plastic cylinder. She pauses.

"Do you want to do it this time?"

Rey had done the first one, when they'd first arrived here from the chaos left behind them on the warship. Ben had hardly been able to stand.

 _He'd needed another,_  she thinks to herself.  _Or he'd never have made it beyond the threshold._

Ben reaches up, takes the small device from her hand and removes the cap. He jabs himself firmly in the outer thigh, holding the intramuscular needle down for three counts, then withdrawing the shot and they both hear the click as it retracts inside itself. He flings it to the floor and then reaches for her again. Rey moves her thigh across one of his, just like before, but he grips it and pulls it further.

"Sit there," he says. "Across me."

"Yes,  _Kylo,"_  she murmurs, and he grins.

Was this okay? Or unethical? Giving him stim-shots so he could make love to her again? He's still in pain, after all, and when they'd pressed together earlier he'd hurt, and she hated that.

Rey feels Ben's hands shift her and tilt her forward as his head reaches up and his warm wet tongue finds one of her nipples. She sinks her breast compliantly in to meet his face. He feels nice there, sucking at her softly, even when his teeth begin to graze across her stiffened tissue until the feeling is so good it hurts, and she needs to grip the sill beneath the window in front of her as she thinks again about what they've just done, and then about what they used to do, when she was still on Kashyyyk and he was still on the warship.

“Ben?”

“Mm?” mumbling now, because his mouth is still full of her breast.

“Do you still drink?”

His teeth release her and she looks down at him. His eyes are soft and there’s a lot more colour in his face than earlier.

“Not since we were last here,” he says. "Why?"

“I was just asking,” she says, leaning forwards to kiss his mouth, and when she does he opens up to use his teeth again, this time to catch her lower lip.

Rey has to place a hand to his chin to steady herself as she works her mouth away with a gentle forefinger, putting it just beneath the lip and pressing there until he opens his eyes and teeth a fraction. He lets go with the teeth but not the gaze, and shifts his hand around her hip. He slips that beneath one of her cheeks as she sits astride his upper thighs and her eyes flick to the scene beyond the window.

“It’s nearly light outside,” she whispers, returning her gaze to Ben.

“It’s always light outside here,” he whispers back. “It’s a city...”

“Not the jungle anymore, beneath the moons...”

 _“On_  the moons,” he murmurs, smiling.

“There’s no light on a moon,” she says, earnestly. “Did you know that?”

“Yes, there is,” he breathes, as she feels him shift his other hand to the back of her head, drawing her in again to kiss. “I can feel it."


	4. Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 1. Part 4 of 5. Ben.

_Can you really?_  he hears her think through the bond as she sinks her mouth to his.

She tastes faintly of iron, Ben notes, as he feels the adrenaline from the stim-shot dull his pain. He runs his tongue along hers and sucks hard at her top lip, imagining the folds around her clit and that he’s tonguing her there, and that it’s making her slick; as slick as her wet mouth is now.

 _Yeah, I can feel it,_  he thinks back vaguely, in answer to her question as thrills travel down his body from all the places she's pressed to, and begin to gather at the base of his cock.

She used to smell like Mysess. Earlier, as he’d held her breast in his mouth and bit down on her nipple, Ben could still smell the sweet scent of that flower, as well as a lingering acrid something he supposed was just a trace of the destruction they'd caused, and then fled from, only hours ago on the warship. That smell - molten durasteel - is still all through her hair though, he detects, as it falls loose about his face.

He feels her hands about his face now, too, stroking him. And then her mouth lifts. He hadn’t been conscious of closing his eyes but now they open in protest. He looks down at himself. She kneels just beyond his erection. He stares at his straining cock and his heart races as one sensation blurs into the next, and then she’s murmuring something. He tries to tune in.

 _“What?”_  he mutters, through the daze of the memories of her and the pleasure that’s pulsing its way through the clouding pain of the wound, and the burns, and the bruising, as the stimulant courses through him.

“Tell me when to stop,” she repeats.

Rey shifts herself further away and he opens his mouth in another silent protest as he grasps for her, but she’s smiling. Ben’s aware now of her hands, which have left his face and are halfway down his abdomen as she sinks her mouth to his upper thigh and he tilts his head back, staring through the ceiling as she leaves him a trail of kisses.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, and she stops.

“Does that...?”

“Fuck, no,” he mutters.

Rey looks back at him now with her wide, hazel eyes and she only puts her mouth to him once, but when she does at last make contact with the tip of his cock he feels nothing but her in that moment. There’s nothing that sears through the hole at his flank. There’s nothing itching across his chest where the burns from the blaster wounds continue to scab. There’s nothing deep in his ribs that seems to squeeze the air from his lungs when he tries to breathe. All Ben feels is the soft touch of her mouth on his glans, and it’s the best thing he’s felt in nearly a year.

 _Do it again,_  he thinks, using the bond because his mouth has gone too slack for speech.

_Yes, Kylo._

Ben lies on his back in the satin, as rain pounds at the window behind them, and Rey closes her mouth around the head of his cock and presses her tongue flush against him. He watches her cheeks hollow out as she sucks at him, her tender eyes never leaving his. One of her hands is spread around the base of him. He reaches down to touch her there, his hand closing over the back of hers and gently squeezing.

“I want you,” he breathes, as he thrusts his hips and her eyes widen as the end of him deepthroats her, but she doesn’t shift. She takes him. All of him.

 _Now?_  Ben hears her think back, pulsing at the idea that her mouth is so full of him she can’t even speak.

“Fuck yes, now,” he says, the words little more than a series of urgent pants.  _"Mistress."_

 _Say please,_  she thinks.

Slowly she runs her lips up his shaft and he stares at how red and slick he is when she's off him. He wants to say it, but the pulse that’s begun at the base of him is persisting, threatening to build, and he doesn’t want that yet. It’s taking all the concentration he can grip at not to finish, and he fights an obscene image he’s had of her for months and months as he tears his gaze from her face and stares through the ceiling again, searching for pain. Anything but her face covered in his cum.

“Ben, are you okay?”

He breathes out hard through pursed lips.

“Ben?”

 _“Wait,”_  he hisses, still breathing hard.

He’s still verging, poised at a threshold he never thought he’d reach when he imagined the outcome of this day and night.

“How the fuck do you do this to me?” he huffs.

“Do  _what?”_  she whispers.

“Just come the fuck here,” he whispers back, as he feels a brief halt in the swell towards climax. “Fucking  _please...”_

She moves cautiously along him, carefully lifting one knee to bring herself down near his navel, so his length is behind her.

“You need to tell me if it gets sore,” she says.

“It won’t get sore,” Ben murmurs, as she reaches with a hand between her legs and holds him firm again.

Ben’s heart beats in his mouth and his stomach flips hard as she brings the head of him to the top of her seam, and starts to rub him along her.

 _“Please,_  Rey,” he whispers again. “I can’t fucking do this much longer...”

She smiles and shifts her hand and her hips and then he feels an intense pressure, a quick skiff, and they release breath together as he slides inside her. She brings both her hands to his shoulders, leaning forwards, her nipples within reach of his mouth again. As he looks up into her eyes he catches one of her tits, and starts to suck at the tip of it.

 _“Ben,”_  he hears her breathe, as she begins to move along him.

 _Mistress,_  he thinks back, as he bites down at her nipple and then lets her go.

“Tell me when you’re gonna come,” she says, as she pulls along his length again and then pushes herself back down, sitting flush against his balls. “Okay?”

“Sure,” he mumbles vaguely, watching as she lifts herself along him once more.

“Don’t come inside me,” she says.

“Okay.”

“I don’t have the thing in my arm anymore.”

“Fine,” he pants, as his gaze shifts quickly from her face to her hips, still pulling herself smoothly up and then down him.

Ben knows it’s too fast. He knows this means he’ll owe her. But that’ll be okay. He’ll make it up. They have nights and nights, and maybe now even some days...

“I’m gonna come.”

She lifts herself quickly and like a shot she’s halfway down him again. The warmth of Rey’s mouth closes around his head as he feels the pulsing start at the base of his cock. Their eyes lock and her lips seal around the head of his shaft.

“Oh,  _fuck,”_  he breathes again, as she holds his length firm in one hand, ready to catch him.  _“Makerfuckingdamnit...”_

Ben fights the urge to close his eyes so he can watch her as his cum fills her mouth. He feels warmer inside her as the waves of his climax soak through his body and she swallows him just before running her lips gently up him once more, to catch all the drips. Then her mouth is on his and Ben buries his tongue deep within her, tasting his seed as she licks traces of it across the inside of his mouth.

As they kiss, Ben tunes in to the sounds of the speeders, moving air through the rain on the street below their apartment on Nar Shaddaa.

 _Can you hear that?_  he thinks to her, his mouth still kneading softly as she presses her body to him and he feels no pain.

 _Short gaps,_  she thinks back.

It’s morning.

“You want breakfast?” Ben asks, as he draws his mouth away and Rey smiles.


	5. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 1. Part 5 of 5. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this chapter is set at dawn but for the sake of tradition let's still call it 'night'.

"Are you really going to make me breakfast?” Rey asks.

“No,” Ben snorts, but he’s smiling. “I never said anything about making it, I just asked you if you wanted some.”

Rey narrows her eyes as she sits on his thighs with her knees either side of Ben’s sleepy cock.

“You owe me,” she says to his sated dick.

“It knows,” he whispers, smiling.

Rey snorts.

“How does this feel now, anyway?” she asks, touching her fingers to the dressing at his flank.

“Good,” he says.

Rey smiles and kisses once more at his mouth, a deep kiss that starts with her open lips all around him, and slowly moves to just her upper one and tongue, sucking away at Ben’s top lip and then drifting off as her eyes close. The umami flavor of his cum still lingers in her mouth, and it’s a flavor she’s missed. He starts to move.

“Your eyes are much brighter than before,” Rey notes, as she helps him sit.

Ben leans back against the transparisteel. She settles herself back down on his thighs carefully.

“Does it still feel okay if I sit here?” she asks, and he nods.

"I’m sorry about before," he says.

Rey frowns as she leans in to kiss him, sensing.

 _Because I didn’t come?_ she thinks through the bond, and then she draws away.

“That too,” he murmurs.

“That too?”

Ben sighs.

“You’ve done so much for me,” he says, very quietly.

Rey stares at him.

“Ben, of course I fucking have.”

“I haven’t done fucking anything for you, Rey.”

“Well who the fuck says I need you to?” she murmurs, leaning in again to brush her lips over his.

“You need me to make you breakfast.”

“Are you implying,” she whispers back, “That I can’t fucking cook?”

“Yes, I am,” he says, smiling again. “But I’m not implying that, sweetheart, I’m fucking saying it.”

“That is really fucking rude, Ben,” she murmurs, as his hands cradle her hips and she watches his eyes flick hungrily across her breasts and belly. “And besides, you said before you weren’t going to make me any breakfast.”

“Well maybe I changed my mind.”

“You didn’t change your mind, I changed it for you.”

“What?” he says, chuckling.

“I changed it for you.”

“How?”

“I guilted you,” she says, smiling. “Because you didn’t make me come.”

“Rey...”

“You’re fine now Ben, I’m getting the med droid.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that, I’m not fine,” he says, grabbing her by the waist as she tries to move off. “No stitches yet.”

“Ben, seriously, are you really okay?” she asks, frowning.

"Yeah, you gave me a shot.”

“I shouldn't have," she says, quietly. "I shouldn't have done that.

“I’m starving,” he says, and she doesn't need to sense to know he's changing the subject now. “You must be, too.”

Rey sighs.

“Yeah, I'll... give making breakfast a crack.”

 _Fuck,_ she thinks. _How the fuck do you cook?_

She’s prepared portions. She’s watched Chewie cook everything edible on Kashyyyk. Once, she’d cut things on a board with a knife here with Ben. Does any of that count as cooking?

“I’ll help you,” Ben says.

“Make the breakfast?” she replies.

“Yeah."

Rey gives him a small smile.

“Where do you think they are now?” she asks, abruptly.

Ben looks deep into her eyes, and she feels him sense her.

“They didn’t tell you where they’d go?”

“No,” she says.

Her eyes search Ben’s as though the truth is inside him; written somewhere beneath his irises and just waiting for her to read it. He must know. His mother is still with them.

“No idea,” he says eventually, and Rey can sense a sadness in him that has nothing to do with his own feelings, because Ben is sad for Rey.

Tears prickle at her eyes. She lifts a self-soothing hand to her face and smears them away.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rey says, swallowing and suddenly aware she’s cold.

Ben’s fingers close around her wrists. He’s pulling her towards him. Gratefully, she lets it happen. Rey moves closer as his big arms fold themselves around her body in a full embrace, one he’s not given her for nearly a year.

His body feels warmer than a sun against hers. When she settles her face beneath his hair, and rests her chin over his shoulder, the tears return to her eyes and she cries as he holds her there tight.

“It’s okay,” Ben whispers, as he begins to rock her gently. “They’re okay, too, I can feel it.”

“I don’t like not knowing where they are,” she whispers back.

“I know,” he says, as one of his palms soothes the expanse of her back while the other one cradles her head, and his fingers rub gently in small circles at the roots of her hair. “I felt like that about you for two years, Rey.”

“You did?”

“Of course I fucking did.”

And Rey knows he’s not lying, because she’d felt that way, too. Until yesterday, they hadn’t really spoken a word to each other since parting ways on Kashyyyk, and it had been terrifying not to know how Ben was, or where. Only when they’d Force-connected - and never for long enough to see each other, only ever long enough to think something very brief - had Rey felt at ease. And as soon as one of them closed the connection all the worry had flooded back to her, and she had learned to live with that. She’d gone back to surviving.

Rey shifts her arms, which have circled his shoulders as she’s pressed herself ever closer to the bare skin of his chest.

“I can’t let you go, Ben,” she breathes. "I can't let you go now."

“You don’t need to, sweetheart,” he reassures. "And I'm not going anywhere, anyway."


	6. Dianoga Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 2. Part 1 of 5. Ben.

Ben’s empty belly wakes him. They still haven’t eaten. This morning he’d held Rey for some time as she’d cried awhile longer. Then he’d laid down with her and she’d curled into his body and they’d slept on and off for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t out of character for her to cry - she used to do it all the time on Kashyyyk, and in his chambers - but he worries about it now as he watches her, still motionless and snuggled close. She’s always done that, too: wriggled her body in close.

To his upper leg Ben places the hand not still wrapped around Rey and searches his body for remnants of pain. Carefully, he takes a deep and determining breath; his upper body still feels good.

Ben works the pads of his fingers over his thigh. He can’t really feel the entry points of the stim-shot needles, but if he presses along the firm outer muscle he can detect a mild sensation, almost like bruising. It’s nothing like the other pain, though, that he'd felt when he’d first arrived here in the apartment. When there was no more juice coursing through his veins to mask it; he’d been clean by then, until Rey had given him another shot. And then another before they'd fucked.

Some of that pain had been caused by Resistance bolts that Ben had let hit towards the end of the conflict - knowing it was required in order to end it - when he'd lowered his blade for just long enough and after Chewie had shot him, because that had been planned. But most of that pain had been caused by damage he’d taken as he’d fled the crumbling warship with both Rey and Finn at his side, too jacked to use the Force. That hadn't been planned.

How much adrenaline had he booted prior to that? How much had Finn given him? Five? He’d definitely shot them all...

 _Shit,_  he thinks;  _Finn had given him ten._

Ben presses a hand to the dressing at his flank and senses it’s time for the med droid. Gently, he works a hand beneath Rey’s cheek and lifts her face to free his upper arm. He lays her head down on the black satin pillow and slowly sits up, swinging his legs off the bed and placing his feet down on the laminate flooring.

“Where are you going?”

He turns his head to the sound of Rey’s voice.

“I’m going to make us food,” he says. “And get the droid to do the stitches.”

Ben reaches out a hand to brush away several loose strands of hair which cling to her lower lip. Rey smiles.

“Are you going to do that naked?”

“Would you like me to?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says, smiling back.

“You don’t think that’s kind of... reckless?”

“No,” she says, still smiling. “It’s necessary.”

“Necessary?”

“Mm-hm,” she says. “I need to make sure you haven’t got any other injuries.”

He frowns.

“And, what, you can only do that if I’m cooking naked?”

“I can only do that,” she says, sitting up. “If I’m helping you.”

“That makes no fucking sense, Rey. You’re so hungry your brain’s shut down.”

She kneels behind Ben as he sits on the edge of the bed and wraps her arms around him, snuggling her face beneath his hair then kissing at his collarbone.

“I am definitely hungry,” she says, still kissing.

“We are getting out of this bed now, Rey,” he says, firmly. “I’m fucking starving...”

“Mm,” she murmurs, still kissing at him as her hands move down his pecs and over the firm contours of his abs, slowing at his dressing.

Ben reaches both hands around to Rey’s bare thighs and grabs them from behind as he stands. She laughs as he shifts his hands below her knees and carries her naked on his back from the bed to the lounge.

“Go that way,” she says, reaching out to her left as he moves to walk straight past the thermostat. “It’s cold, I need the heater...”

“What, I’m not hot enough for you now? You used to say I was your heater...”

“You are definitely still both of those things, Ben,” she says, kissing his cheek but still reaching out for the wall, and he acquiesces.

“You’ll need to hit it, my arms are full of you,” he says, detouring to the left and she finds the panel and smacks it with the heel of her palm.

When they reach the kitchenette, Ben stops them in front of the ‘serva and leans forward.

“Can you open that, please?” he says, referring to the door.

He bends and she reaches out her hand again and pulls it open. He nods at the whole dianoga pie he bought two days ago.

“Get that out,” he says, lowering further so she can reach in and grip the plate.

“Dianoga...,” she says, and although he can’t see her he can clearly sense the wrinkle that ripples her nose in disgust now.

“Oh, yeah, sweetheart. Nuke it for me?”

_“What?”_

“Stick it on that,” he says, nodding at the thermapad, “And turn it on.”

“Oh,” she says, reaching forward again as he swings her round, still holding the plate, setting it down on the pad and then activating the power.

“Ben, put me down now,” she says, tapping lightly at his hands with both of hers.

“Yes,  _Mistress,”_  he replies, sliding her down his back, while his palms feel her soft curves slip and she lands barefoot on the floor.

“I’m getting the droid,” she calls over her shoulder, as he slides the warmed pie to a fresh plate, and takes an enormous mouthful.

He doesn’t even know why he’s bothered with a plate; half of it’s gone before she’s even left the room.

 _Should’ve bought two,_  he thinks.  _Or maybe... six._

He walks from the kitchenette, past the island bench and through the lounge to the couch where she sits with the droid, hovering in the air in front of her.

He swallows thickly, blinking dumbly down at her, because she’s just so fucking beautiful.

“What?” she says.

“Nothing,” he answers, as he passes her the last of the pie and she accepts it, sniffs at it, and then finally takes a small bite. “I promise it’s good.”

Ben feels his heart skip as he watches her eat, naked on the surepp blanket covering the sofa, her legs crossed characteristically beneath her. He smiles and sits down next to her, reaching for the droid, removing the dressing and leaning back against the big padded cushion behind him.

“Ben?” she asks, as a faint snipping sound rents the air when the droid begins work to cover the wound with sutures.

“Hm?”

“This is actually good,” she says, as she nods at the last bite of pie in her hand before tipping back her head and dropping the rest in her mouth, chewing slowly. “Like, it’s  _really_  good...”

He sighs, smiling at her again as the droid continues to work on his stitches.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to learn how to cook this for me,” she says, grinning.

“I’ll work on it,” he says. “Or...”

He reaches out a hand to her bare knee and curves his palm around it. Ben watches her wriggle a little and then she shifts on the blanket, stretches out her bruise-smattered legs and covers his bare thighs with her own, sitting across him as the droid completes the stitches and Ben pushes it away with a nonchalant hand. He pulls Rey in and she wriggles closer, still working the last of the pie from her teeth with her tongue.

“We could go out and get some more,” he says, softly.

“We could do that,” she murmurs, leaning in to him and he kisses her once on the lower lip and then works his mouth beneath her hair, to find the spot she likes him to lick behind her ear.

“Maybe after this,” he whispers, as he presses his other hand to the centre of her chest and coaxes her down to her back.


	7. Some Kind Of Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 2. Part 2 of 5. Rey.

“Ben?”

“Mm?”

He is kissing at just the right place on her neck, while she lies back against the impossibly soft surepp blanket on the sofa.

“I love this blanket almost as much as I love you,” Rey whispers.

He’s much better tonight, and Rey is relieved because now he can do this to her again, without the aid of a stim-shot. And, also, he’s good at doing this to her. Very, very good at licking behind her ear and making her feel like she belongs just here with him. Rey smiles.

“When do you think it will be safe to leave?”

“Leave?” he murmurs. “Or go out and get more pie?”

“We are going out,” she says. “Ben, you’re going out with me.”

”Going out, like I’m some kind of  _boyfriend?”_

”Yes.”

“Rey, I’m  _living_  with you,” he murmurs. “I’m more to you than just a  _boyfriend.”_

She frowns. For several moments she's silent; she just lets Ben’s statement hang in the air as he works his mouth down her neck. His light stubble tickles at her.

Maybe he’s right. She hasn’t ever had a...  _that,_  and she hadn’t thought of Ben like that until Rose had said it, several days after she and Finn had found them together that final morning on Kashyyyk. Ben had always been just Ben then, except for the times when Rey had called him obscenities, or sometimes  _Kylo._  But for most of that time, in her head he'd been her lover and her secret, but never had he been her  _boyfriend._

Ben is still her lover now, but he is not a secret from some of the Resistance anymore; there were just a few they’d trusted with that.

So maybe Ben is right. Maybe they are doing that - living together - and this isn’t just hiding, or surviving. But maybe he is wrong about one thing. Maybe he is also just her boyfriend for now.

”But I didn’t mean that,” he continues, breaking her reverie and returning to the earlier subject. “I meant to  _go out.”_

“What? Ben, I’m completely lost...”

“When you said that earlier, did you mean  _leave_  or just to  _go out?”_

“What’s the difference?”

“Leaving means not coming back, Rey,” he says, still with his lips to her neck. “But we can still  _go out,_  you know? Like,  _leave_  and  _come back.”_

“I meant leave as in leave, Ben,” she says, beginning to sense him, and that something about this bothers him a lot, means something more than she has the presence of mind to figure out just now, distracted by his mouth and his tongue and his lips, all still working softly on her neck.

“Why do you wanna leave?”

“It’s small,” she says, quietly.

Ben lifts his head.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re not small,” she murmurs, and she notices the way he stifles a smile, because he knows now as well as she does that it’s true; she’s looking right now at how true it is.

“This is too small for you?” he says, lifting his eyes to the space around them in order to indicate the size of the apartment.

Rey frowns up at him. Ben looks hurt, and she feels a twinge of guilt; she doesn’t think the apartment is small. She hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. Everything is getting misconstrued.

 _Shit,_  she thinks.

“It’s not small, Ben,” Rey says. “It’s perfect, I really like it... I mean it’s got a fucking roof, for Maker’s sake, but... you know... maybe after awhile, we  _might_  want to leave...”

“Doesn’t have to be forever,” he mumbles. “Just ‘til it’s safe, I guess, or maybe just until it’s less... I don’t know...”

“Fucked up outside?”

“Yeah.”

“But that’s what I mean, Ben,” she murmurs. “When do you think we can leave?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Do you?” he asks her.

It used to be his father’s, after all, and Ben used to mind that. But maybe he feels differently now. Maybe he's grown attached. She’d noticed it earlier, as she’d searched the apartment for the med droid; Han's clothes still hang in the wardrobe. Ben still hasn't thrown them out.

“No, not yet,” Rey whispers. “I like being here with you, Ben.”

“I like it, too.”

“So, maybe, we won’t ever leave.”

“Maybe we’ll just go out sometimes.”

Ben drops his face back beneath her hair and returns to the spot behind her ear.

“We need to buy food,” Rey sighs. “There’s not really much in the ‘serva.”

She runs her hands across his bare upper back as his lips keep working away.

“Ben?” she asks again, as his mouth works down to her nipple.

“Mm?”

Rey thinks about the stim-shots again as he presses his thigh between her legs and begins to suck away at her nipple.

“On the warship, when we were with Finn, how many shots did you have?”

Was that a question, or an accusation? Is she accusing Ben of something? He lifts his head and their eyes meet once more.

 _Shit,_  Rey thinks for a second time.  _He totally sensed that._

She's still getting used to mind probes again.

 _“You_  gave me  _one,”_  he says, his eyes darkening.

“I gave you that  _here,_  not  _there,_  and I  _had_  to give you that,” she mutters, shifting her hand to his hair as he returns his mouth to her breast.

 _I know,_  he thinks.  _I was pretty fucked up._

“You could hardly stand,” she murmurs.

_On the ship I only had what he gave me._

Was  _that_  an accusation?

“No,” Ben says, briefly lifting his head for the third time. “That was not an accusation, Rey. I knew what I was doing. I knew what he was giving me.”

“Did you talk about it first?” she asks, arching her back in response to his tongue when it starts to flick at her nipple, and thrills make their way down her body.

Rey can feel a warmth beginning deep between her legs, as well as at her clit, as he continues to rub at her with his thigh. Ben sighs and lifts his mouth for the fourth time.

“Talk about what?”

“Did Finn ask you how many shots you wanted?”

“You were there, you know,” Ben answers, as his mouth returns to her skin. "He sort of did."

 _“Sort_ of?”

“When he arrived, before we all ran, he told me he had ten,” Ben murmurs.

He leaves kisses down her bare flank as he shifts above her body, so his knees spread either side of her lower thighs.

“And then he asked me how many I wanted,” he continues.

Ben lifts one knee, shifting again so that now he lies to one side of her, but is still on top; she likes him on top.

“And I said,” he finishes,  _“Turn around.”_

_“What?”_

“You heard me,” he whispers.

Ben's eyes are still dark. Rey stares into them and he stares back so intensely that for a very brief second she considers dropping her gaze, and letting him win, but she doesn’t. Yet.

Instead, Rey stares back as a smile threatens.

“Say it again,” she breathes.

“Turn around,” he repeats, leaning in but averting his eyes, looking somewhere above and beyond her.

“Now say  _please,”_  she whispers.

“No,” Ben says, closing in tight on her prone body now, and his dark gaze returns to hers. “What did you ask of me earlier?”

“What?” she says, frowning.

Still flat on her back on the surepp blanket, naked but warm in the temperate air of the apartment, and even warmer beneath his skin, he’s starting to pin her below him. The warm thrum between her thighs niggles again for her attention.

“What did you say to me earlier?” he repeats.

She frowns, mock-thinking, because she can sense exactly where this conversation is now going.

“I said... you didn’t make me come.”

“Ah, yes,” he whispers. “That’s right.”

Rey narrows her eyes but says nothing and waits. Ben waits too.

“I feel sort of sleepy, I might go to bed,” he murmurs.

“Fuck you,” she whispers, grinning.

“I know you want to,” he starts, “So why don’t you just fucking turn around...”

Rey huffs. She can feel this game starting to affect her more than she expected; he’s better at teasing her now. She supposes he’s had nearly a year to think about it. Her thighs begin to press together and her hips to slowly grind.

 _“Ben...”_  she whispers, unable to prevent the plea.

He brings his mouth down to her ear.

“Do you still want me to make you come?”

“Yes,” she whispers again.

“Yes what?”

“Ben, please...”

“Yes  _what?”_

“Kylo,” she breathes. "Yes  _Kylo."_

“Then you know what to do,” he whispers, as Rey smiles and shifts to her belly, and Ben grips her by the waist.

 _Some kind of boyfriend,_  she thinks.


	8. Metaphysical Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 2. Part 3 of 5. Ben.

Ben slides her along the sofa. The surepp blanket begins to slide with her, so he stops; he’s taken her far enough to spread her knees anyway, there’s no need to go further. He works his hands to the skin just beneath her chest. Anchoring the heels of his palms against her, he rubs the webbing of each hand up slowly, until he cups her breasts. Then he lets them go.

“Do you like it when I do this?” Ben asks.

He leans forward against Rey and works her down to the sofa again, and her hands slide the blanket back with her.

“Do what?” she asks.

He snorts faintly through his nose.

 _Do what,_ he thinks derisively.

“Dominate you,” he whispers. “Do you like it when I dominate you?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Kylo.”

“Put your hands here,” Ben says quietly, shifting her wrists gently so she rests on her forearms.

Rey moves with him, without resisting. He positions her hands so the palms face down.

“Keep your hands there,” he whispers, stroking their backs with his fingers. “Please.”

“Please?” she murmurs, turning her head to catch a glimpse of him. “You never used to say that.”

“We never used to really do this,” he murmurs.

“So you used to be rude to me,” she begins, “Because we only ever used to do this Force-connecting?”

Ben snorts again.

“I was never rude to you, I was always very nice to you, actually.”

“Well you never said _please.”_

“I certainly did say _please._ I said _please_ a lot, Rey.”

 _“Mistress,”_ she corrects. “Maybe once or twice you did, yes.”

“So you don’t want me to say _please_ anymore?”

“I’m waiting,” she prompts.

Ben huffs.

_“Mistress.”_

“I like it when you say it,” she murmurs. “I like it when you say _Mistress,_ Kylo, and I do also like it when you say _please.”_

He frowns down at her, reeling at how easily she’s turned the tables here.

“Spread your knees.” he says, miffed.

“They are spread.”

He leans forward.

“Lift yourself up on your forearms, then,” he breathes into her ear.  _“Mistress.”_

Ben watches her do it and then he runs his hands beneath her chest for the second time and cups her breasts.

“Did you like that better, though?”

“Did I like what?” she whispers.

“Just then, when I didn’t say it, did you like that better?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Do you like this better?”

Ben senses.

“Better than when we used to fuck while Force-connecting?”

“Yes,”

“This is much, much better than all that metaphysical shit we used to do...”

“This is like it was in the Glade that time,” she whispers. “When you were really there... Ben, I _loved_ that time…”

She’s right. It does feel exactly like then, because when Ben begins to tug at Rey’s nipples now, he’s really doing it; this ain’t no connection, it’s real. When he lets her go, and collects her loose hair again to pull it back gently from her neck, he’s really doing that. And when he places a kiss beneath her hairline, she’s really face down and naked beneath him, just how he likes her to start off when they fuck like this.

“Are you okay?” he whispers to Rey from behind.

“Yes,” she whispers back, angling her neck towards his mouth as he brings it around to the skin behind her ear, and licks.

“Yes _what?”_ he whispers back. “You need to _say_ it.”

“Yes,  _Kylo,”_ she breathes.

“Spread your knees further.”

She behaves the same as when they used to do this Force-connecting; she still moves impossibly slowly, in Ben’s opinion, and it drives him crazy. Impatient, he grips her by the waist again and pulls her backwards along the sofa for the second time.

“Reposition your hands,” he mutters, running his own up her body to her wrists again.

She shifts beneath him, extending her forearms and placing her palms face down on the surepp blanket. He looks down at her appreciatively.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, gathering her hair and lowering his mouth to the back of her neck again.

Her back is arched, and when Ben lies down on top of her, this time he can nestle his cock between the spread cheeks of her arse, now that her knees are further apart. Ben shifts his hips down and away and then presses himself against her once more, slowly pulling his length across the gap, feeling pleasure in response to the friction it creates.

As Ben repeats this, he listens to the sounds of her breath as it enters and leaves her body, growing heavier with each one of his pulls. Again he works his hands beneath her chest, feeling there for the warm flesh of her breasts. Cupping them in his palms, he works a finger and thumb to each nipple. He begins to lightly twist and she wriggles beneath him in response.

“You like this,” he whispers, grinning.

He only does it very slowly, and very lightly, but each time he pushes across the stiffening tissue of the tips of her tits with his thumbs, he hears her moan softly, or sometimes feels her hold her breath for a moment until she huffs it out in a bothered groan.

“I asked you a question,” he says, quietly. _“Mistress.”_

“You know I fucking do,” she mutters, dropping her head. “And it wasn’t technically a question.”

Ben smirks. Her upper back lifts as her shoulders drop and she pushes up against his chest. Her hips grind in slow figure-eights into the blanket below them, and each time they shift they rub at his cock and thrills travel through him, making his stomach clench and his own breath begin to hitch in his throat.

He continues to massage himself between her cheeks and her moans become more insistent the longer he rubs his thumbs across her nipples. He can feel his cock pushing hard against her seam as he pulls back. When he shifts forward, he’s so hard now he skiffs along her, and when he does he exhales as she continues to grind herself into the blanket beneath them.

Her chest begins to undulate, and twice she tries to wriggle her nipples from his hold. On both occasions he tugs her gently back to him and pushes down on her correctively with his chest.

“Ben, please,” she moans.

“Are you gonna come?” he murmurs, listening to her pant and quickening the movement of his thumbs.

“Yes,” she huffs, dropping her head again and stretching her body beneath him, desperate to end the protracted arousal he’s causing, but has no inclination yet of finishing.

Ben lets her go.

“No, Mistress,” he says, removing his hands and sitting back on his haunches. “You’re not coming yet.”


	9. The Sleeved Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 2. Part 4 of 5. Rey.

Rey grinds into the sofa, drops her head to the blanket again and groans, longing to shift her hands to her body and rub at her nipples in the way he just has, before he so cruelly pulled himself away. Or even better to thrust her hand down between her legs and rub furiously at her clit. Anything, really, to relieve the tension that’s coursing through her now.

Mouth wide and teeth bared she pants against the smooth surface of the surepp as somewhere above and behind her Ben watches, biding his time. Rey pleads with him again, through a thick fog of bother.

She needs to address the throb between her legs, commanding the rest of her now; she can’t think straight. Lifting her hips, she pushes herself out slowly by the knees and then drops back down to the blanket and grinds away again. She can’t do anything but lie here, face down and writhing, waiting for Ben to finish her off. Rey hears him exhale behind her, but not the sound of movement; he’s drawing this out on purpose, but she can tell he’s struggling, too.

It sounds as though he’s above her; he must be kneeling. If he won’t listen to _please_ then perhaps she can convince him via other means. There are several ways she knows by which he likes to be convinced, and watching her is one of them; she works her knees higher up the sofa, and lifts her hips again, rocking back slightly and spreading herself further for him.

Ben’s breathing hard now. She can hear all of the breaths; not just the ones he exhales, but also the shaky ones he’s taking in. She turns her head and glimpses him, pushing out again.

“Kylo,” she murmurs.

He lifts his gaze to something beyond her but it’s only a diversion, and he’s on her in a flash, then. His forearm hooks her by the waist and he pulls her hard against his hips. He holds her there and rocks, and she thinks it’s over; that at last he’ll enter her and relieve this. Slide deep inside her and start a gratifying rhythm, but Ben withdraws his arm.

“Lie down,” he whispers, spreading his hands across her hips and gently coaxing her back to her belly.

Rey murmurs in protest but complies. She lowers herself and Ben runs his palms down the back of her thighs, halting her hips just shy of the sofa. Then his mouth is behind her.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpers, pushing back again.

His tongue licks along her seam, from as far as it can reach to the back of her, and then it’s gone, as quickly as he placed it there.

“Do it again,” she pants. “Please.”

But the breadth of his frame is pressing down on her again. He’s rubbing between her legs with one hand at her breast, tweaking at her once more. The other hand is somewhere else, but really she’s no idea. Her eyes start to roll, and the very faint grip she just had on her thoughts starts to slide away again, sinking down into the depths of the bother he perpetuates.

Rey can feel herself gaping from several places, her mouth for one; but also what she presses now hard to his lower abs as he rubs his length between her legs. She’s so wet she can almost feel the cream sliding from her spread cunt towards the surepp blanket beneath them. She breathes out - in the scheme of all this it’s mildly satisfying - but then he pulls his body back once more and she moans another protest.

“Ben…”

“I know,” he breathes.

He applies his substantial weight above her again, and one of his hands anchors near her shoulder.

“You don’t know...”

“I do, just wait,” he reassures.

Rey feels him shift above her and when Ben presses the hard tip of himself between her cheeks she gasps.

“Feel me,” he whispers.

He shifts it further along her seam and rubs the head of his erection to her clit. Then he slides it through her slickened folds, slipping along her entrance and over the opening of her smallest hole.

“Can you feel that?” he huffs, returning his tip to her clit as she pants beneath him.

“Of course I fucking can, Ben, this is not at all subtle,” she groans, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling into the blanket, opening her mouth against its supple surface and for some reason pressing her tongue to it, imagining it’s something belonging to Ben.

Rey pushes back again, and the gaping sensation returns. His hot breath lands on the back of her neck. Sometimes he dips his mouth to the skin there, sometimes he lifts back to release a groan or a huff. But always he struggles to maintain control, and she senses it, lifts her mouth from the blanket and grins.

“Do you know,” she starts slowly, breathing hard as he continues to rub his cock along her, “What I really want, Ben?”

“You want me to fuck you.”

She rolls her eyes again.

“Before that.”

“What?” he huffs. “What do you want me to do?”

She stares at the bare forearm belonging to the hand he’s anchored on the sofa beside her.

“You know that thing you wear?” she says, quickly.

“What thing?”

“That thing you wear?”

“What thing?” he repeats, and she doesn't need to sense his bother this time, because now Rey can clearly hear it; she’s tipped the scales at last.

“The sleeved thing,” she breathes.

“Yeah,” he says, cautiously.

“Put it on.”

“You want me to wear that _now?”_

“Yes.”

Rey feels him pause, but then he’s off her, almost as quick as he was over her before. She shifts her hips, still on her belly but turning her head to face the rummaging sounds he’s making as he searches the floor of the apartment for the garment. She smiles as she watches his bare arse from behind until he stands, sleeved cowl in hand, and shrugs it on.

Her lower lip trembles as he stands there, now winged from the shoulders by the garment and finished by his flaming hard-on. He’s still bruised in many places. His sculpted chest is still peppered by scarring from the blaster shots. The stitches at his right flank are a black hole in his side. Rey pushes herself back again, keening for him.

“Please fuck me now,” she whispers.


	10. Adage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 2. Part 5 of 5. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In classical ballet, an _adage_ is a slow section of a _pas de deux_ , which is basically a duet in which the man supports the woman in turns and balances, followed by solos for each, and then at the end they dance together again. As a dance class exercise, an _adage_ is focused on slow, controlled movements that highlight balance and extension, and require strength and poise.

“Soon,” he responds quietly, then in one fell swoop Ben’s collected her by the waist in his massive arms and they’re halfway to the bedroom.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, dropping Rey face down on the mattress and stepping to the bed, hard and wearing nothing but the sleeves; he anchors a knee and reaches for Rey.

She rolls, and his big gentle hands clasp her by the ankles and pull her to him. He shifts his hands to her hips and draws her near, sinking his knees to the floor. Ben supports her there, at the edge of the bed, and as she wraps her ankles around his shoulders he places a kiss to her cunt and their eyes lock.

 _“Ben,”_ he hears her breathe, as he opens his mouth around her and rubs the tip of his nose across her clit.

Ben licks up and down her slickened folds and her hands begin to stroke at the crown of his head. Rey’s fingers work their way through his hair as he runs his tongue around her entrance, then slides it inside her, thrusting before shifting his mouth back to her clit and lapping. She starts to moan softly, words he can’t make out, but they don’t matter now.

The tones of her voice and the flavors of her on his tongue are the call of the light that he hears, and answers, as the darkness inside him accepts her invitation to dance, and Rey leads the  _adage._ He partners her, with a mouth and a hand and a cock that her scent alone could keep hard, and does; Ben can feel it, still pressing firm against the bed frame as he kneels before it and slides two fingers deep inside her.

He works his face around her clit again as he strokes, and she begins to wriggle on the edge of the bed above. Ben’s nose rubs at the button of her clit and then he sucks at it again, tonguing at her hood as his fingers find the spot he remembers she likes them to press to - just inside her entrance - and he rubs at that, too.

“Oh,  _fuck,”_ she breathes, as her hips buck and her hand presses flat to the back of his head.

He knows she’s close. He remembers how she closes her thighs around his ears at these times, just before the muscles inside her start to pulse beneath the pads of his fingers. He steadies her at the top of her thigh with the hand not inside her and then she starts to climax.

She thrusts up into his mouth and he flicks his tongue across her clit again. He shifts the hand on her thigh, reaching up for her breast, fumbling for the nipple but her own hand is already there, tugging. As the pulsing strengthens he hears her moan his name, even though her legs are gripped tight either side of his head as his whole face adores her now, still buried deep in the treasures of her cunt.

 _Come here,_ she thinks through the bond, pulling gently at his hair.

Ben looks up and brings his hands inside her thighs, extending them to her lower belly and then smoothing his palms across her waist while he stands. He shifts her backwards, making room as he ascends the mattress and leans in to Rey. He stares at her hooded eyes and slack mouth before dipping his head with an idea to nuzzle in to her neck, but she grasps his jaw firm in her hand, and draws him in to her mouth instead.

“Kiss me,” she breathes, just before their lips touch.

_Mistress._

She wraps her thighs around his hips and Ben feels himself returning to a time and place he’s kept in his heart, a memory that’s sustained him for nearly a year; the very last time he made love to her like this, above her in the dirt at the edge of the Mysess Glade on Kashyyyk.

Their kiss deepens as he sinks his length inside her. Ben sighs as his hips begin long slow motions along the warm walls of her cunt, tight from the ripples he can still feel thrumming through her.

When she tilts her head back to moan again, his mouth does find her neck and Ben sucks at her skin. Her hands grip his shoulders, tracing their way down the textures of the sleeves of the garment she asked him to wear, and she breathes his name.

“Ben…”

“Sweetheart…”

“I love you,” she whispers.

He sighs and smiles into her neck as he feels himself verging. Maybe one day he’ll learn how to make this part last, but not now.

Through the slatted cedar venetians, the orange hues of the nighttime lights outside the apartment cast an artificial glow across the bedroom as Ben comes inside her, and when he looks down at Rey he’s seeing her there for the second time.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

He’d seen this on Kashyyyk. As he’d fucked her on the ground beneath the light of three moons, he’d seen her here, now, and just like this, her tanned skin just as bright. But not the kind of brightness caused by moonlight. And not like the diodes that used to reflect off her in his chambers, even though these lights are just as artificial. These lights are distinctive to this place, and he knew then they’d come here. He’d shown her they could.

Ben collapses forwards and buries his face in the crevice of her neck, breathing hard as he feels her gently roll him to his back. She snuggles her way over him, and he feels her hot mouth against his lips, the skin of his jaw, the healing wounds across his chest.

After many minutes she comes to rest in the crook of his shoulder. With sleepy eyes he looks down at her and she gazes back. Concern edges her wide, hazel eyes and his stomach clenches, although the balm of his orgasm is making it difficult to feel anything now but bliss.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes, sensing. “I completely forgot...”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, tilting her chin to affix a kiss to his lower lip. “I’ll get some herbs.”

“Herbs...,” he murmurs, his brain still foggy.

“Mm-hm,” she murmurs back. “Do I have clothes here?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, tilting his mouth to place a kiss to her forehead. “I got you some.”

“Okay, then,” she says, snuggling herself in closer and he pulls her tighter to his chest, feeling his lids growing heavy as sleep calls to him now.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes.

”Goodnight, Ben.”


	11. Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 3. Part 1 of 7. Rey.

Still naked, Rey frowns down at the contents of the large storage drawer beneath the bed. Ben lies on his belly on the mattress, just as bare as she is and propped on his elbows, eating nutrient paste straight from the jar with a spoon, and looking down, too.

“You’re not happy,” he says. “You don’t like them.”

Rey looks up from the meticulously folded assortment of clothes in the drawer. There’s a faint look of hurt in his dark eyes, similar to what she’d seen last night, when they’d discussed the size of the apartment.

“There are just so many,” she says, returning her gaze to the colourful fabrics.

When she lifts a garment, another is beneath it, and when she lifts that, there’s layers and layers below.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had this many clothes in my whole entire life, Ben,” she murmurs. “Let alone all at once.”

Rey’s eyes land on the verdant green of the A-line dress with the deep V-neck he gave her two years ago, on the second night they’d spent here. She lifts it carefully and the plain cotton weave unfolds.

“Maybe I could wear this,” she wonders. “Over trousers, with my old belt…”

“It has pockets,” he reminds her. “You wouldn’t need trousers.”

“I like trousers,” she says, looking up as he offers her a mouthful of paste and she sucks it from the spoon. “But you’re right, it does already have pockets.”

She frowns at it, working the semi-sweet paste around the inside of her mouth, dissolving it as she contemplates the dress.

“I need a disguise,” she says, still unsure.

For the second day running they’ve slept right through it. Not long ago they’d washed and dried and begun to talk through the necessity of somehow acquiring more food. And now, here they are again in the bedroom, staring down at a drawer full of clothes; another thing Ben cached for her in the days before she helped him leave.

To Rey, the choice of clothing seems endless but there’s only so much food Ben’s pre-stocked in the ‘serva and cupboards, and they’ve already eaten more than half of it between them in two days, including the whole dianoga pie. They’re down to the long-life stuff now; jars of the spread, dried kelp strips, nutrient bars and packets of pepper pretzels, although Ben’s already consumed most of the pretzels, as well as the bars - he eats a  _lot -_ so one of them needs to go out and shop.

Rey knows it can’t be Ben, even though he’s mended fast. He still has the stitches, and a lot of surface bruising, but the real barriers to Ben leaving the apartment are his face and his build; he’s too recognisable. Even in disguise, his height and his massive frame will draw too much attention, whereas Rey can be much less conspicuous. She can camouflage a lot more readily than he can.

“It’s a possibility,” she begins, referring to the green dress, unfurling it and laying it out on the laminate floor by the bed, “But if something bad happened, and I had to fight wearing  _this_ …”

She knows she can fight in tabards, but  _dresses?_ Rey returns to the drawer.

“It’s nice, though,” he says. “It looks nice on you.”

“It’s not about looking nice, Ben,” she scolds, rummaging for something else more practical. “I need to look different, and I guess no one will recognise me in a dress, but I just don’t think it’s functional enough...”

Ben reaches down and searches for a moment until his hand lands on something dark. He flicks his wrist and the fabric comes loose. From the depths of the drawer, and the layers of colour, Rey watches him remove a long black something.

“This,” he murmurs. “You could wear it with the hardweave boots, and you could fight in it easily enough, if anything were to happen…”

Rey reaches out to touch the matt texture of the garment.

“What is it?”

“A szona body glove,” he answers. “Dancers wear them, so if anyone were to recognise you from before, it wouldn’t be out of place…”

Rey holds it up, running an appraising eye over the sleek lines of the one-piece. It seems to be full length in the legs, not capri. The bodice is shaped, plunging low at the neck and thin but sturdy shoulder straps connect the pliant fabric of each breast panel with the back, which is cut as low as the front. It looks practical enough, and as though it exposes just enough to be convincing of something a dancer might wear, but not revealing enough to draw too much attention.

“There are gloves, too, somewhere in here…,” Ben adds, beginning to search again through the drawer. “Oh, here…”

They slip from beneath the cherry red cloak - the velveteen one with the broken clasp - and he passes them to her. The long black gloves are made from the same pliant material as the body glove, and a texture like leather lines the palm of each, rolls around the thumb and travels the length of the index finger. Rey traces her finger along it, sensing.

“It’s grip,” Ben offers. “A  _functional_ feature of this garment, Mistress.”

Rey stifles a grin, then drops one glove to the drawer. The other she slides her hand inside and gently runs it up her forearm. It reaches all the way to her mid triceps, and the fitted edge snugs between the firm sculpted contours there.

Rey reaches out in front of herself, stretching the fingers of her hand and turning her wrist to face it palm up, and then down, twirling her fingers in fluid patterns through the air and smiling as she admires the way her whole arm looks, silhouetted in black.

“What will you wear underneath?” he asks, with a grin.

“Not a stitch,” she teases, giving him a very slow wink.

“Really?” he says, scraping the last of the paste from the jar with the spoon.

“No,” she says. “Did you get me any underwear?”

“I already got you that,” he mumbles, through the spoon and the mouthful of paste.

Rey snorts.

“That’s not underwear, Ben,” she says, thinking back to the flimsy bra and tanga she wore that time they went to the Meltdown Cafe.

“Sure it is,” Ben says. “I bought that from a lingerie store.

“Yeah, exactly, it’s lingerie, Ben,” she says. “It’s not underwear.”

“What?” he says, frowning. “What’s the fucking difference?”

“The fucking difference, Ben,” she says, twisting and reaching behind herself, and pulling out a small drawer in the wardrobe, fishing around for the familiar feel of the strappy garments in question, “Is that these are sexy but they aren’t very practical; I can’t fight in them.”

“I’d like to see you try, though.”

She flings them at him and he dodges.

“Seriously,” he says, grinning. “I like these a lot, I need to see you wear them again…”

“But not outside with this,” she finishes, nodding at the body glove.

Rey turns her attention back to the small drawer in the wardrobe.

“So, what else did you get me?”


	12. Sensible Underwear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 3. Part 2 of 7. Ben.

_For fuck’s sake,_ Ben thinks.  _She’s not half fussy._

“Listen, sweetheart, I spent the better part of a standard week getting you all that shit...”

 _“You_ listen,  _Kylo,”_  Rey knifes back. “All I’m asking for is some underwear that doesn’t ride up my crack every time I fucking move.”

He snorts.

“You’re a piece of work...”

Rey turns her back on him. She riffles through the contents of the small drawer in the wardrobe. Ben sighs and resorts to improving his mood by watching her arse as she flings things around. Blushes of pink have bloomed on her skin where she’s sat for the past half hour.

“There are some sensible things in there somewhere,” he mumbles in an effort to appease her, still gazing at the spots of colour. “They’re black, if that helps.”

Ben drops the empty jar and spoon and heaves himself up off his stomach, with half a mind to help her. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he drops off the edge and comes to rest with his knees up, thighs spread and big feet flat to the faux linoleum boards.

“Shit, this floor is cold,” he mutters, frowning but still staring at Rey from the back. “How’d you manage to sit here so long?”

She turns, something black in her hands; she’s found the sensible underwear. Ben notes her softened expression; he knows this look. This is how Rey looks when she feels guilty. He feels guilty, too.

“I found them,” she murmurs. “See?”

Rey holds them up.

“Yeah, I see,” he mutters back.

She turns on her knees and cautiously shifts across to him, working her way between his thighs and placing a hand to his chest. It feels warm. Ben takes a deep breath as she places her other hand to his shoulder. He pulls her closer, so he can nestle his face between her bare breasts.

“Are you _really_ cold?” she asks.

The change in her tone is not lost on Ben. She’s so soft with him when he needs her to be. Is he like that with her? He’s not sure he is.

“It’s just the floor,” he mutters again, but he’s kissing the skin between her breasts now and tilting his face up to look at her. “It’s fucking freezing, we need rugs in here or something…”

Rey places her hands, still full of the underwear, around the back of Ben’s neck. He enfolds her and kisses at her skin again, opening his mouth to it and pressing his tongue flush to her breast, tasting her. Turning to rest his cheek just there, right on the spot he’s been licking, Ben listens to the beat of her heart and gazes across the landscape of her chest, to her stiffened nipple.

“You want some help putting those on?” he asks quietly, referring to the garments still in her hands as he closes the gap on the tip of her breast. “You know, to help make sure they fit?”

“You are so infuriating,” she breathes.

Ben tongues at her lightly. Rey sighs and he feels it; her breast heaves against his mouth when he wraps his lips around her. Sucking hard, he presses closer. She lets go of the garments, and her hands take hold of his face again.

His eyes flutter then close as she strokes along his jawline. He pulls his lips away from her and she sinks her face to his, opening her mouth around Ben’s and kissing him deep and slow. One hand strokes at the back of his neck. For a moment he forgets where he is, and why.

After several minutes Rey draws her mouth away.

“I love you, Ben,” she whispers.

When he looks at her, her eyes seem distant. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

She closes her mouth and sighs through her nose.

“I don’t want to go without you,” she says, quietly.

“You’ll be fine, you don’t need me to shop…”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“It won’t be for long.”

“I know, but…”

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, in an effort to distract her.

He taps at her hips. She rolls to the balls of her feet and stands. Ben watches her fling the bra to the bed. She steps into the black, seamfree briefs and pulls them up to just below her navel. When she turns, Ben’s eyes linger at the subtle concave curve that’s formed where the full cut of the fabric pulls taught between her cheeks, just above where it disappears between her legs from the back.

He feels his stomach clench faintly as she collects the bra and shrugs that on, pulling it down beneath her curves and shifting herself in it. She rolls her shoulders, their eyes meet and he raises his eyebrows.

“Comfy,” she says, smiling at Ben and reaching for the body glove.

Ben continues to quietly watch her dress, observing the way she runs the footed garment up each leg. She pauses briefly before wriggling the bodice up her torso, over her breasts - sculpted by the form-fitting bra - then shrugs her arms through the straps and shifts her shoulders again, adjusting.

“Wow,” she murmurs, twisting, rocking her hips and stretching her arms above her head. “This is actually  _really_  comfortable.”

Ben has a mind to dress himself, too, but he’s having trouble. The sleek form of her dressed all in black is much more interesting than searching for clothes, even though he’s definitely beginning to feel cold now, as he continues to stand barefoot on the floor.

“Boots,” she says, looking down at her gloved feet.

Ben slides the wardrobe door along its runners, to help her search for the hardweaves, but his eyes come to rest on what’s hanging above the assortment of footwear at the bottom; the shirts, vests, trousers and jackets that used to belong to his father.

 _Shit,_ he thinks.

He hadn’t forgotten these, but he almost had.

Just before the conflict on the warship had begun, several days ago, for not the first time Ben had looked through these clothes and wondered what to do with them. Now, as he reaches out a hand and begins to flick through, he wonders that again.

“Ben?”

He turns his head. She’s holding out more garments. His own garments.

Slowly, Ben accepts them. Then he takes a step back and sits down on the mattress, shrugging on the black V-neck, but that’s as far as he gets. As he stares down at the pair of black trunks, still held loose in his big hand, a lump he hasn’t felt in a long time rises in his throat. Ben puts a hand to his face and rubs at his eyes as they begin to cloud.


	13. Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 3. Part 3 of 7. Rey.

Rey kneels on the bed next to Ben.

“Are you okay?”

He still has a hand to his eyes and now he works the webbing of that across his face, rubbing at the dark, three-day-old stubble that’s emerged above his top lip, along the line of his soft jaw, and beneath his chin. Spending a lot of time rubbing beneath his chin, Rey notes.

“Not really,” Ben mutters.

Rey shifts her feet beneath herself, moving closer to him; to the place where Ben sits on the bed. The body glove is snug and soft around her, and as she worries for Ben she also wonders if this is actually the softest thing she’s ever worn.

She pictures him in a store downtown, seeing this and thinking of her. She thinks about the hand he has still rubbing away at the stubble beneath his chin, working that hand not against the coarse prickle of his facial hair, but against what she wears now. The plush fabric.

Rey reaches out and takes that hand and she brings it to her thigh, face down. She thinks about how he always places her hands face down, when they fuck in that certain way they do, sometimes. She places that hand palm down, just like that.

Ben doesn’t resist. He lets her place it, and he lets her coax it so that it’s flat against her thigh. Rey presses down gently on the back of his big hand, and she can feel each sensitive pad, at the end of each of his long fingers, press down there, too, as though he’s tuning in to each one, each fingertip. As though he’s searching the fabric for every weft and warp that makes it up. As though he’s counting threads.

Rey shifts her thumb, which is over his, and Ben’s shifts with hers. They move their thumbs together, back and forth very slowly across the weave of the body glove’s soft fabric.

Rey has been looking at Ben’s face, and Ben has been looking at their hands, while they’ve been doing all this. Now, Ben lifts his gaze and looks into Rey’s eyes. He moves his hand, turns his palm up and collects her hand, and lifts it to his mouth. He places a kiss at the back of her hand, while she touches her other one to the top of his still bare thigh; the one still bearing the track marks.

“Are you in pain?” Rey asks, thinking again of the stim-shots as she squeezes gently at Ben’s thigh.

“Not that kind,” he answers softly, squeezing her hand once more.

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you just want to… do something else?"

“Like what?” he says, raising his eyebrows.

Rey gives Ben a very faint smile, still touching her hand to the top of his thigh, as still he holds on with his other.

“I just thought maybe I could get us something to eat, or a drink, and maybe we could sit on the sofa for awhile. Or something. Something like that.”

“I sat here for a long time,” Ben says, evasively.

Rey frowns a little, sensing.

“You sat here?”

“Yeah.”

“Recently?” she asks, not really sure where he’s going with this. “Or… a year ago?”

“Both,” he murmurs. “Both those times, I sat here and I thought about it.”

“Thought about what, Ben?” Rey asks gently.

He sighs.

“I need a drink,” he says.

“But you said you didn’t drink anymore.”

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters. “But that doesn’t change the fact I want to.”

Gently, Rey works her hand from his and puts her arms around Ben. He doesn’t hold her back, but she does feel him collapse a little. It’s not a big collapse. Just a little one. His big shoulders drop. His forehead comes to rest against her upper chest. And as she rubs at his back she does start to feel a small heave or two from him, and she knows what that means - she’s felt him do that before - but she doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“I didn’t want to make you sad,” he whispers.

Rey blinks. Twice.

“You haven’t,” she whispers back. “I was feeling sad anyway. I was feeling sad anyway, Ben.”

For many minutes they just spend the passing time like this. Ben sitting on the bed with no pants on, the black trunks she’d passed him earlier forgotten in his lap, and wearing just the black V-neck. And Rey, sat on her knees and with both her arms around him, wearing the black body glove and rubbing away with flattened palms in big slow circles across his back.

It’s stopped raining outside on the Smuggler’s Moon. For some reason the silence feels salient. It must be close to midnight, or it must be just after. There are no speeders. Has she ever heard no speeders? Has there ever been an absence in the sounds that have drifted into the apartment from the street outside, below the bedroom window? Why are there no sounds now? Is there something she’s supposed to be listening in to instead?

 _What is it?_ she thinks, frowning and trying to sense.

Something is here that Rey can’t hear. She doesn’t know what it is. But Ben’s back has stopped heaving. And in the silence, in the absence of anything to listen to - including any sounds that Ben might otherwise make if he did make sounds when he cried, which he never does - Rey can hear the sounds of her own voice in her head, and she opens her mouth so that Ben can hear them, too.

“Did you ever try them on?”

“Yes,” he says, and they move apart together, and Rey looks into Ben’s eyes, which are moist from his tears, but those tears are no longer falling.

Gently, Ben shifts her, and then he stands and moves to the wardrobe, still open and still full of shirts, vests, trousers and jackets that used to belong to his father.

Ben doesn’t move, just stands there and stares at them.

“They’re yours now, Ben,” she murmurs, without knowing why. “Just reach out and take them.”

“I already have,” Ben says.

He reaches out a hand again, and strokes at the sleeve of one jacket.

“But he was smaller than me, Rey, and they don’t fit so well.”

Rey stares.

“You have his height,” she finds herself saying.

Ben nods.

But then, Rey supposes he’s right. Han had been slighter than Ben, who is broad and thicc and tall, but not at all small. Not in any way.

Ben pulls out the jacket and tears fill Rey’s eyes because he’s bought her a wardrobe, but nothing in that means half as much as what he's holding out to her now. Holding out now for her to  _take._

“I’m not the one meant to wear this shit, Rey,” Ben says. “And you can’t go out without a jacket.”


	14. Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 3. Part 4 of 7. Ben.

Ben holds his breath as Rey stares down at the worn leather relic in his hands, and when at last she reaches out and takes the jacket, he lets that breath go. Rey rubs her thumbs against the soft textures of the treated hide, and puts it to her nose to take in its scents. Crisp and earthy, faintly acrid; scents Ben already knows by heart.

“I could use a jacket, I guess,” he hears her say quietly.

She looks down critically at herself, sleek and svelte in a garment leaving little to Ben’s imagination, not that he needs to imagine, but the body glove hugs her curves so snug now that she might as well still be naked.

“I mean, I don’t think it’s  _cold_ out, exactly,” she adds, “But I can’t conceal weapons in  _this...”_

“Put it on, then,” Ben suggests.

Rey hooks her fingers inside the collar and holds it up. Slowly, she runs her left arm through a sleeve, pauses, and then does the same with the right. She shrugs it up her shoulders and Ben stares.

They’d always been just a little bit too big for his father, too; all the jackets Ben can ever remember him wearing. Either too loose at the sleeves, or shifting too much about his narrow hips when he walked, and they were all so  _short_ in the length, always waist-length; Ben preferred something that fell to his mid-thighs, at the very least, but on Rey, as he stares at her now, in a too-big jacket, everything about it just  _works._

“What do you think?” she asks, turning again to face Ben.

The yoke of the jacket is black, and that draws attention to the breadth of her shoulders and the length of her black-clad body beneath, but the rest of the leather is a warm mahogany, and that draws attention to the flecks of gold in her eyes. The sleeves fall to just below her wrists, and the hem of it is just a fraction too long for something that’s meant to be waist-length.

 _But that’s okay,_ Ben thinks.  _It’s meant to fall like that._

As Ben’s gaze lingers there - at her waist in the too-long jacket - he knows she’s right about weapons. But now, in a too-long jacket, she can pack as much as she wants below the cut because it falls so amply at the back, now it falls down hers.

“I think you look like a smuggler,” he says, smirking and only half joking. “Definitely not like a dancer anymore…”

Rey laughs and turns back to face the mirrored doors of the wardrobe.

“Do you like it?” he checks, because he always has to make sure; he doesn’t want to smother her, fuck it up, or do something else wrong.

“I  _love_ it,” she says, still staring at herself in the mirror.

“There are pockets,” Ben says, stepping towards her and reaching out to the narrow ones on either side of the jacket’s front.

“You know, you have a real thing for pockets,” she says, affectionately.

“I do?”

“You often mention them.”

Ben works his hands beneath the open lapels of the jacket, feeling the soft fabric of the body glove beneath, pulling taught about Rey’s hips.

“They’re good,” he murmurs.

Rey snorts.

“Pockets are  _good?”_ she repeats, teasing. “Okay, one day I will  _not_ quote you on that.”

“Fuck you,” he replies, but he’s smiling.

Rey steps away and returns to the wardrobe.

“Do you really think I look like a smuggler?” she asks.

“Fuck yes,” he answers, as she glances again at her image in the mirror, then kneels at the foot of the wardrobe and rummages around the sundry collection of footwear at the bottom.

“You’re gonna wear  _those?”_ he asks, with a note of superiority; she’s discarded the red hardweaves and in her hands she now holds her old woollen boots.

“Well,” she starts, standing, “Maybe, if you  _think_ I look like one, then that’s what I should  _be...”_

She throws the boots down on the bedroom floor.

“I mean, sure, I need a  _disguise,_ but that doesn’t mean that I have to be a  _dancer_ again, right?”

She works the toes of her feet inside the boots.

“I mean after all, this moon is meant to be full of them, for fuck’s sake...”

She bends, pulling each boot over a heel.

“...I’ll fit right in.”

“A smuggler,” Ben muses, “On the Smuggler’s Moon…”

“Well, why the fuck not?” she says, standing up.

He watches Rey collect the full-length gloves she’d earlier pulled from the storage drawer below the bed. Carefully, she folds them and lays them back on top of the rest of the clothes Ben bought for her, and meticulously folded and stored away in the drawer in the days before they arrived here, in the days before he defected. She folds the green dress, too, just as carefully.

And then Rey closes the drawer.

“Ben, put some fucking pants on,” she says, smiling down at his dick, which peeks out from below his black V-neck.

“Oh yeah,” he mutters, reaching for the trunks, stepping into the leg holes, and pulling them up.

“Do you still have those joggers?” she asks, as she searches for her old belt, locates it with the rest of her worn garments in a haphazard pile on the floor, and begins to sling the narrow bands around her waist.

“Yeah,” he says, thinking back to the soft fabric of those, that he’d first worn here with her a year ago. “But I got a whole bunch of other stuff, too.”

He crosses to the opposite side of the bed and pulls out the storage drawer there. Briefly he searches, then takes hold of a pair of black bootcut jeans, and withdraws them. He senses Rey watching, and looks up.

“What?” he asks.

A faint smile crosses her face, and she looks down again to her belt, evading.

 _“What?”_ he repeats.

“Nothing,” she says, smiling.

Ben pulls the jeans up and fastens them.

“So,” Rey says, slowly. “Are you gonna put a belt around those?”

“Yes,” he says. “Why?”

“No reason,” she replies, still smiling.

Ben frowns.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Nothing, Ben, just watching you dress.”

“That’s not all you’re doing...”

Rey smirks.

“Tell me what the fuck you’re doing, Rey.”

“I’m not doing anything…”

“You are…”

She sighs, still smiling.

“It’s just,” she starts. “You  _might_ be reminding me of someone right now.”

“Who?” he asks, warily.

“No one,” she says. “I mean, he  _rarely_ wore _black…”_

“That’s right,” Ben murmurs. “And I  _only_ wear _black things,_ Rey.”

“I know you do,” she says. “You  _love_ to wear black things, and you are  _not_ like that someone at  _all.”_

“That’s  _right,”_ Ben repeats. “I’m very different.”

 _“Very_  different,” she says.  _“Ben_ Solo.”


	15. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 3. Part 5 of 7. Rey.

"Okay, so, I would find a blaster in the...?"

"Lounge," Ben says. "Storage compartment beneath the chaise. There are weapons there, and some other... things."

"Things?"

"Yeah," he says, grinning.  _"Things."_

Rey switches rooms. She shifts the surepp blanket and pulls up the seat of the modular sofa's chaise

 _Holy shit,_  she thinks, staring at the odd assortment of weapons and sex toys.  _Okay, yeah. Things._

She grabs a blaster, checks the safety, then slides it beneath the lower strap of her leather belt, and shifts the jacket so it falls loose, concealing the weapon she’s just packed at the small of her back. Then she collects the saber.

“Make sure you don’t…”

“Ben, I  _know,”_ she cuts, as she hides her blade there, too, just beyond the small leather pouch she’s also strapped around her middle, containing currency, both cash and credits. “You’ve only told me, like, ten thousand times.”

 _Smugglers don’t use sabers,_ she repeats through the bond.

“I’m nervous about it,” he mutters.

Rey turns quickly from side to side in front of the mirrored sliding door of the built-in robe in the bedroom, checking one last time that the generous folds of the worn leather garment are doing their job, and at the very least hiding the saber; the jig would be up for sure if that was ever seen on the streets of Nar Shaddaa.

 _Definitely for emergencies only,_ she thinks to herself.

Satisfied, she turns to Ben.

“You’re always nervous,” she says, sympathetically, taking his face in her hands, lifting up on the toes of her boots and placing a kiss to his mouth. “I’ll be fine, Ben, okay?”

He gives her a look.

“And if I’m not,” she continues, “You’ll know about it, because I’ll  _tell_ you.”

“And then I’ll go to you.”

“Just like we talked about yesterday.”

He gives her a faint nod, but Rey can still sense alarming levels of anxiety in Ben.

“I’ll feel a lot better once you’re back,” he says.

She smiles, pecks quickly again at his mouth, then heads for the front door.

“I’ll be fine,” she repeats over her shoulder. “Eat some pretzels.”

“Can you get fruit? I’m fucking sick of pretzels.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says.

“And more pie.”

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Don’t die,” he says.

“Don’t you fucking die either, Ben.”

“How the fuck would I die in here?” he grumbles. “Boredom? Muscle atrophy, maybe...”

Rey flashes something between a smile and a grimace.

“You can’t really die of either of those things,” she says, as she strides to the door. “You know that, right?”

“Don’t you go putting credits down on that statement out there, sweetheart, because I’m telling you I could definitely die of...”

“Love you,” she calls, slinging an empty haversack across her shoulder and then she’s out.

 _Shit,_ she thinks, as the fortified front door closes behind her, another thing Ben reinforced in the short time he spent here before she helped him flee.  _Now what?_

 _Fruit and pie,_ he reminds her, through the bond from the other side of the door.  _I’m fucking sick of pretzels._

Rey rolls her eyes and makes her way to the stairwell, sensing.

It’s lit from above by glowpanels. Half of them need replacing but she’s glad for the patches of darkness as she begins the short descent down the inner stairwell.

The shadows provide a degree of concealment that’s making her feel safer, because she’s somewhat disguised now, in the smuggler getup, but she’s done nothing with her face - no theatrical makeup like she’d worn the last time she walked these streets - and nothing with her hair. It falls loose about her shoulders.

 _No one knows you,_ she hears Ben reassure her through the bond.  _You’re no one to them, just remember that. You’re nothing but another fucking smuggler now, Rey._

_Are you gonna do this the whole time?_

_Do what?_

_Just randomly interrupt me._

_I’m not interrupting you, I’m helping._

_You’re interrupting me, Ben._

He goes silent.

_Ben?_

Rey pauses.

 _Ben?_ she repeats, as the silence in her head continues.

 _Maybe he’s right,_ she thinks to herself.  _Maybe he really could die of boredom, or muscle atrophy…_

 _"Ben?"_ she hisses aloud.

_You said no interrupting._

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she huffs, beginning to move again.  _If I talk to you, you need to fucking answer, Ben, else I’ll think something’s happened, and I’ll have to come back._

At the end of the stairs Rey pauses, sensing for life forms in the empty entranceway, even though it’s the middle of the night. But seriously, who the fuck’s she expecting?

_Ben?_

_Yeah?_

_Which way?_

_West._

She passes through the street level door and heads right, for west.

_You see electronics?_

_Yeah,_ she thinks back, beginning to walk.

It’s not cold out, but her hands have found the pockets of Han’s old jacket. It feels comfortable. She shifts her hands and hooks in just her thumbs. That feels good, too.

_You see anyone?_

_Droids, mostly,_ she answers through the bond, as her feet find a comfortable stride.

_Anyone following you?_

Rey senses.

_No._

The same orange light that filters through the bedroom window of their apartment at night bathes the darkened streets now, in the very early hours of morning. As Rey walks, she passes beneath the occasional lamp but the glow is mostly accumulated light emitting from signage. Even the stores of sentient beings who sleep at night, whose stands are now closed, keep them lit, and the various colours reflect off the wet streets beneath her feet.

The rain’s stopped, but its run-off lingers in the gutters and traps that she passes smoothly by as she walks, and its sounds still linger as water flows down drainage pipes and causeways from the invisible roofs and awnings of towering buildings and structures above her.

Occasionally, Rey looks up to notice that; how the sky seems not to be there at all because there’s no end to the vertical planes. Trees have upper bounds. Chewie told her that, once, when she’d asked him. But what about buildings?

_Ben?_

_Yeah?_

_I can’t see the sky here._

_Fuck, Rey, pay attention to your fucking surroundings._

_I am, Ben, I’m fucking noticing that…_

_The fucking street view, Rey, that Gank with the blaster, right over there._

“What?” she mutters, searching.

He snorts with contempt through the bond.

_You wouldn’t know about it, you’re too busy looking up at the fucking sky._

_You fuck, Ben, did you just make that up? About the Gank? You nearly gave me a heart attack…_

_Please stop looking at the sky._

_There is no fucking sky, Ben, that’s my fucking point. There’s just buildings that stretch up forever._

_Stop it, Rey, or I’m Force-connecting, I’m not kidding._

_You would not do that._

_Look at your fucking surroundings._

“Don’t you dare boss me, Ben,” she mutters below her breath again. “Which way here?”

_North._

Rey rounds the corner and heads left, for north.

_You see amenities now, yeah?_

_Yes,_ she thinks back.

_Keep walking, you’re nearly at..._

Something catches Rey’s eye, then, that reminds her of a thing she’s been meaning to get. Two things, actually. It’s a bright primary red in the otherwise orange and grey of the nocturnal streetscape.

 _Medical,_ she thinks to herself, as her eyes trace around the shapes that comprise the red neon cross, blinking urgently across the street in the window of a vendor that’s still open.

 _Must be run by a droid,_ Rey decides, as she slows the pace of her walk.

 _What are you doing?_ Ben thinks through the bond.  _Why the fuck are you crossing the street now?_

 _Just… wait,_ she thinks back, sensing as she steps from the sidewalk to the street - looking, too, just in case - but nothing’s approaching; it’s the time of night when the gaps in the speeders are longest, and hardly any street traffic moves about beneath the apartment’s window, where Rey ventures now.

_I need things here, Ben._

_What things?_

She’d always used keepers, ever since joining the Resistance and her health had improved, because she’d been better nourished than all those months she’d spent before that, growing up on Jakku, with not enough to eat.

And because it was just easier to do that, with no fixed address, and no real idea of how long she’d be in one place. If she’d even be in a place, and not just space. A place where she could stay clean enough for long enough to pay detailed attention to things like the state of her own hygiene.

But now, in this place, and in a...  _home_ with Ben - which has walls and a roof and a real garbage bin, and a restroom and a real fucking ‘fresher with water in which she could really wash  _everything…_

“Tampons,” Rey says to the droid, as she enters the medstore. “Do you sell them here, or what?”


	16. Taboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 3. Part 6 of 7. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that Ben's thinking about Rey's menstrual cycle in this chapter. This is on the tags but feel free to skip this one if you think it may bother you.

_Aw, fuck,_ he thinks to himself.  _Tampons? Is she serious?_

For some reason Ben feels like tuning out entirely now. He shifts awkwardly against the wall by the bedroom window, where he’s leant since she left the apartment, watching and sensing the streets below. A moment ago he’d been desperate to keep up to speed about where she was - what she was doing, what she was thinking - but now he thinks he might like some pretzels after all...

Ben tries to shift his attention from the awkwardness he feels in response to what she just asked for, in the medstore downtown, to something else. He doesn't have much luck though.

Why the fuck does he feel so awkward about it? He likes her body, doesn’t he? If she needs things for it, well that’s fine, isn’t it? He just doesn’t really want to think too much about those things. Why is that?

He’s done a lot of things to Rey’s body. He usually likes thinking about it. He’s put things in almost all her holes before and certainly the ones that really matter. But somehow that’s not embarrassing, that’s hot. This isn’t. Is it?

Is he just feeling _embarrassed?_ Is _that_ what’s wrong with him? Is it _embarrassing_ to think about her body doing… _that?_

Ben thinks back to that time they showered together here, in the ‘fresher, when he’d fingered her smallest hole because she’d asked him to, after he’d soaped her whole body first with trillium soap. He’d liked fingering her like that. He’d liked it a lot. He’d liked the way her muscles felt, clenched tight around his first digit. He’d liked rubbing her clit at the same time with the fingers of his opposite hand, as she came while he kissed her neck from behind, and watched her lathered tits heave as she breathed hard.

 _Not embarrassing,_ he thinks, feeling his cock twitch hard at the memory.  _Hot as fuck._

Ben diverts from his pretzel plan and instead he crosses the floor to the exercise bench in the corner of the bedroom. He removes his black V-neck and jeans and pulls on his old joggers, which he’s taken to keeping slung over the end of the low padded bench for easy access.

Suddenly, he’s very aware of the fact that he’s never lived with a girl before. He grew up alone, no siblings, no cousins, and he never thought to ask the few girls he knew then about anything much, least of all how they worked. He had no fucking idea really. Once, his father had sat him down for a sex talk. He’d tried not to listen. And Ben sure as shit hadn’t asked him any questions, least of all about...  _that._

_It’s called menstruating. Ben._

He jumps a mile.

_Fuck you, Rey, how long have you been listening?_

_Since you started thinking about the ‘fresher,_ she thinks back.  _Whenever you think about sex, Ben, you are way too easy to mind-probe._

Ben sighs, swings his legs around, lies back on the padded bench, and starts doing crunches.

 _Don’t ignore me, Ben,_ she thinks.

_I’m not. I’m concentrating._

He hears Rey snort through the bond.

 _Does it hurt?_ she asks.

 _Fuck, you, Rey,_ he thinks back.  _I need to think._

 _Yeah right,_ she deadpans.  _Because crunches are really intellectually taxing._

“I’m counting,” he mutters aloud. “Is that really true?”

 _Is what really true? That crunches are really intellectually taxing?_ she quips.  _No, Ben, that was sarcasm. In case you haven’t heard of that, sarcasm is when…_

Ben huffs.

_I’ve fucking heard of sarcasm, thank you very much, Rey. Is it true that I’m that easy to mind-probe?_

_Yes, Ben, it’s totally true._

_Fuck,_ he thinks to himself, sitting up, swinging his legs back around the bench and standing; he’s thirsty.

 _I didn’t mind those thoughts, by the way,_ she thinks back.  _I’m not embarrassed by your thoughts about me. I like them._

 _Well, what if they were ever not about you?_ he thinks, as he walks to the kitchenette, reaches the ‘serva and opens the door.

 _What?_ Rey thinks back.

 _What if I had thoughts about someone else?_ he thinks, reaching in and pulling out a pitcher of chilled water.

_Like who?_

_Well, no one, I was just asking the question._

Ben pours himself a glass, drains it and refills.

 _Is there something you want to tell me, Ben?_ she asks through the bond.

_No._

_Have you been thinking about someone else? I mean, we haven’t seen each other in a long time..._

_No, Rey, no one else. Just you._

_Are you sure? Because, you know you can tell me, right?_

_There’s no one else, Rey. What about you?_

Ben sets down the glass and crosses the lounge to the sofa.

 _What about me?_ she thinks back.

 _Well, have you been thinking about someone else?_ he asks, sitting down and leaning back against the big black cushions, and staring at the blank holoscreen, mounted on the opposite wall.

_No, Ben, no one else._

_Would you tell me, though, if you had been?_ he asks, lying down on his back across the sofa, which is so big his whole body fits.

 _Only if I thought it wouldn’t upset you,_ Rey thinks back.

Ben frowns and thinks again of the pretzels.

 _Do you still want pie?_ she asks.  _I’m nearly at the Meltdown._

 _And fruit,_ he thinks.  _Pie and fruit, remember?_

 _I can’t get that now,_   _fresh food vendors are closed…_

_Just pie, then._

Ben closes his eyes and thinks about that time he’d come early. The first time he and Rey ever fucked. The first time he’d ever been with a girl.

 _You never laughed at me,_ Ben thinks.  _Why not?_

 _What?_ Rey thinks back.  _You mean when…?_

_Yeah, I mean when._

_Why are you thinking about that now?_

_I don’t know…_

Ben frowns.

 _Maybe it's because,_ he starts,  _Before this I was thinking about you, and what it’s like to really be with you._

_Living together?_

_Yeah,_ he thinks back.  _There are all these things I never realised you needed before… I love you, Rey._

_Ben?_

_Yeah?_

As he waits for her reply, and thinks about her again, Ben feels himself growing sleepy. He pictures Rey as she looked when she left - in the body glove and the jacket and the boots - and he wishes that she was here now, even though he knows she’ll be back soon; he likes to hold her close as he drifts off to sleep, and he feels like that’s what he’s about to do.

But she still hasn’t responded.

 _Rey?_ he thinks through the bond.

Ben opens his eyes as the silence continues, and he senses it just before she flicks the thought to him.

_I think I’m being followed, Ben._


	17. Unexpected Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 3. Part 7 of 7. Rey.

She’d picked it up as she’d crossed the street. Although now Rey reflects, she had sensed something back outside the medstore, too, as she’d left there with the tampons and the herbs to chew; she’s chewing herbs now. So, maybe she’d picked it up earlier than that, the unexpected company.

Rey passes through the doors of the diner and senses the bounty hunter do the same. She walks to the counter, collects a menu and pretends to peruse it while she waits in line.

Even at this early hour, the Meltdown Cafe is occupied. It’s not exactly bustling but there’s a clientele who seems to enjoy the dark, broody ambience of the place at this time of night, all exactly like her; all seeking to hide.

Rey feels something hard and cold press into the small of her back.

“Don’t move,” the modulated voice whispers in her ear, as she stands in line to order dianoga pie for Ben. “Everything will work out just fine if you turn right and walk over there, to that furthest booth. Do you understand?”

Rey knows she doesn’t have to tolerate this shit, but maybe it’s better - just for now - to bide some time. She can hear Ben in her head, threatening to Force-connect.

 _Just don’t,_ she thinks to him, her head still bent low to the menu.  _Please, Ben, just give it another minute or two._

She has no idea who’s here, in the cafe now, or who’s behind her beneath the armour. If Ben were to Force-connect it could be lethal, and not just to him. Rey senses his panic, because she feels panicked, too, and she knows she needs to address the string of expletives directed at her that continue to issue through the bond from his mind; they make concentrating on her immediate surroundings exceedingly difficult.

 _So, you heard all that, right?_ she thinks to Ben, as she walks to the booth in the furthest corner, the bounty hunter following close behind, its blaster still pressed hard to the small of her back.

 _Get the fuck out of there,_ Ben urges.  _What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you fucking know you’re being cornered?_

In a way he’s right. The wall at the end of the line of booths is fast approaching and there’s nowhere to run, and nowhere to really seek cover. Just a booth on the right to slide into; it’s the same one she and Ben sat at, when they’d come here a year ago, and they’d chosen it for a reason: it’s the most secluded spot in the diner.

So when she reaches the wall that’s what she does; slides in. And when she looks up, the bounty hunter is already seated, the steely grey and red of its armour winking innocently in the warm glow of the eclectic assortment of vintage lamps above them, and with the blaster still held in its gauntleted hand, pointing straight at her heart.

“Who are you?” Rey murmurs.

“Where’d you get that jacket?”

“None of your business, that’s where,” she hisses. “Answer my question and I’ll consider yours.”

“I’m going to take off my helmet.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“When, I do, you need to act natural, do you understand?”

 _What the fuck is this?_ Ben thinks through the bond.  _Strip Sabacc? Rey, blast this Makerfucker into…_

Rey blocks Ben, and focuses on the masked sentient creature in front of her.

“Why?” she murmurs, still keeping her voice low. “Why would I need to do that?”

“Promise me.”

“I’m not promising anything to something I can’t even see,” she hisses again. “Tell me who you are.”

Has the sentient recognised the jacket? Is that why it’s followed her? If that’s true, has this all been a huge mistake, leaving the apartment dressed not just as a smuggler, but wearing a garment iconic of an infamous one, who’d resided here, owned property here; has Rey set herself up?

Rey thinks back to when she first met Han on the Eravana, and the circumstances; he’d been smuggling rathtars and talking shit. She can still feel Ben at the edge of her mind, trying to Force his way in. Should she let him? Does he know who this is? Would he know what to do? What to say? How to talk that same brand of bullshit Han could, and get her out of trouble now?

Slowly, Rey leans forward and reaches behind herself for the hilt of her saber.

Just as slowly, the sentient lays the blaster on the table, turns it so the barrel faces back towards itself, and slides the weapon across to Rey. She doesn’t waste a moment, taking hold and aiming, careful not to lift it from the table, trying to maintain discretion.

Then something dawns on Rey. Nothing to do with Han, or the jacket, but a lot to do with Ben.

“You know who _I_ am,” she murmurs, as her heart begins to race. “That’s why you followed me...”

As she releases her grip on both weapons, the sentient’s hands move to its helmet and begin to lift it slowly.

“Of course it’s why,” Finn whispers back, as he sets the mask down on the table between them, and Rey sees him grin. “Had you going for awhile there, though, didn’t I?”

She reaches across the table to clasp Finn’s hands as tears fill her eyes, and she opens her mouth to say something.

 _“Not here,”_ Finn reminds, leaning forward to meet her and they nuzzle foreheads quickly, sharing breath, before drawing away. “Remember you  _promised…”_

Rey’s eyes dart left and right of where Finn sits in the dimly-lit, secluded booth opposite her with his back to the diner. No one occupies the booths nearby. Soft music plays from a droid on the other side of the eatery, and in the absence of conversation, sounds from the kitchen travel through the space intermittently; it’s safe enough now to whisper together here quietly.

“Finn,  _how…?”_

“It’s just me and Chewie,” he murmurs, still smiling. “But I had to wear this, I’m still a wanted man.”

He touches his gloved hands to the armour that covers his chest, then slides the gauntlets off his wrists and Rey watches Finn stretch out his fingers.

“But it’s  _really_ fucking sweaty in here, Rey,” he mutters. “I think I lost ten pounds already.”

Rey covers her mouth with her hands.

“Don’t make me laugh, Finn,” she whispers.

“Where is he?” Finn asks.

“In the apartment,” Rey murmurs, searching Finn’s eyes.

“Is he…?”

“Yes,” she says. “Ben’s okay.”


	18. How To Make Gravy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 4. Part 1 of 5. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _You know I love her badly, she’s the one to save me_   
> _I’m gonna make some gravy, I’m gonna taste the fat_   
> _Ahh, tell her that I’m sorry, yeah, I love her badly_   
> _Tell ‘em all I’m sorry_
> 
> \- Paul Kelly (How To Make Gravy)

Ben slices onions and every so often he re-checks the palm-sized holopad, where he’s looking for instructions on how the hell to do this: make gravy for the pie.

Two nights ago he’d as good as promised to try to learn how to do this for Rey - learn how to make dianoga pie - and he’s determined to keep that word, it’s the least he can do for her right now; he’s feeling pretty fucking useless, having spent the last three days and nights stuck inside.

“You’re very useful, Ben,” she huffs from the bedroom; she’s doing pre-dinner crunches on the exercise bench.

Ben snorts through his nose and takes another small sip of the Trandoshan ale she bought downtown this morning, when she’d gone back out for the fruit, and the ingredients for the pie, after he ate the whole one she brought him back for breakfast from the Meltdown.

So now he’s started drinking again, but he’s trying to keep a lid on that. Maybe it’s possible, if he sticks to just beer. He hates beer, it’s so working-class. And it tastes like shit. So, maybe this will work out okay.

“No, I got it,” he mutters, checking the holopad again after adding the onions to a pan on the stove, which already contains a carefully measured quantity of aola, seasoning and some garlic.

Ben checks the recipe again then walks to the ‘serva, opens the door and removes the dianoga tentacle. He unwraps it and lays it out carefully across the plastic chopping board. With a sharp knife he starts to segment the cut into small, even-sized cubes. He shifts the onions around in the pan, adds some flour and a little more aola, and then opens the pouch of bantha stock.

Rey hasn’t yet told him everything. He sensed that, when she’d told him what happened - as he ate pie this morning and she had Dressellian prunes over Dantooine cereal with milk - he could tell there was something more. He was planning to ask her again, tonight over home-cooked dinner, their very first one together.

“Are you listening to that?” he calls to her in the bedroom, as he adds a little of the stock to the pan and stirs briskly, just like the holopad recipe says.

Rey wanders in to the lounge, and Ben can’t help but stare at her, in nothing more than a light coat of sweat and a pair of sensible black briefs.

“What?” she asks, reaching for Ben’s beer. “That’s catching on the bottom, did you know?”

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, ripping his gaze from her shining bare chest and returning his eyes to the pan, stirring furiously and then adding more stock.

“Was I listening to what?” Rey asks, walking to Ben as he cooks at the stove.

He feels her arms wrap around his middle, sneaking their way beneath his black V-neck.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, as he smiles while she traces along the contours of his abs and he stirs the gravy in the pan. “Maybe there is something.”

“Mm?”

“Did you tell me everything before? About what happened, when you caught up with Finn in the diner?”

“Yeah,” Rey says. “I think I did…”

As Ben stirs, the gravy thickens again, so he adds more stock.

“Rey?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you turn the oven to moderate, please?”

“Sure,” she says, taking another swig of his beer, then bending down and turning the dial. “Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“I invited Finn over for dinner.”

“What?”

“I invited Finn over for dinner.”

“When?”

“Tonight?”

“Why?”

“Because he has nowhere else to go, except back to the Falcon.”

“Where’s the Falcon?”

“At the spaceport.”

“Someone with it?”

“Chewie.”

“Is he invited, too?”

“No, just Finn.”

“Well, why wouldn’t you invite both of them?”

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, resuming her careful tracing of his abs, now that the oven is on. “I just didn’t.”

Ben frowns down at the pan full of gravy.

“You do realise,” he starts quietly, as he turns off the heat and adds the chopped dianoga, “That this is our first home-cooked meal together, yes?”

“Sorry,” she whispers.

Ben takes the pan off the heat and turns around to face her. She blinks up at him with her wide hazel eyes.

 _Fucking hell,_ he thinks, as he gazes into their soothing depths.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Maybe we can have a special dinner tomorrow, or something…”

“Shit, Ben, I didn’t know that this was meant to be  _that…”_

“Can you cancel? Can you ask him back tomorrow?”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “When he gets here, tell him we had plans.”

“Ben, that’s  _mean…”_

“It’s not  _mean,_ it’s… He’s got a girlfriend, right? I’m sure he’ll understand…”

She’s frowning at him now. That’s never good.

“Ah, fuck, fine,” Ben says, turning back to the pan on the cooling stove and reaching for the pie dish, which he’s already lined with butter pastry.

He picks up a fork, pokes several holes across its surface and pours in the baking beads.

“Can you open that for me, please?” he asks her, referring to the oven’s door.

“Of course,” she says quickly, bending again to pull it open and Ben flings in the pie dish, more forcefully than he meant to.

Rey closes the door and they both stand awkwardly in the kitchenette. Ben picks up his beer and takes a very long swig.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?” he mutters, returning the beer to the bench then turning his attention to the bowl he’d earlier filled with doughnut batter, and covered with a cloth to prove.

“Can you look at me, please?” Rey asks, as he lifts the cloth and stares at the risen dough while he feels her tugging on his V-neck, so he turns around.

“If you want me to,” she says, raising her hands up beyond his shoulders and stroking gently at his nape. “I will tell Finn that I made a mistake and ask him to come back tomorrow. I won’t say you asked me to turn him away, Ben. I promise I won’t. Really, Ben, I didn’t know this was meant to be special. I just thought you wanted to get better at cooking…”

Ben puts his mouth to Rey’s and kisses her deeply, holding her by the back of the waist and drawing her body in close to him, as he opens his mouth around her and while the scents from the browning pastry in the oven start to waft through the air as they kiss.

 _I don’t mind,_ he thinks through the bond, and he knows it's true.

There are things Ben knows he needs to say now to Finn.


	19. Slow Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 4. Part 2 of 5. Rey.

Rey smiles her favourite kind of smile, the one she saves for Ben’s mouth when he kisses her just like this, because they’ve never really had the time for foreplay - on Kashyyyk, things always happened fast - and just as fast it’s become almost all they do here; in the apartment things tend to happen slow.

Ben holds her close in his big hands. He presses his jeaned thigh between her bare ones and rubs at her, insistent but not desperate. Eager, but in a way that makes her feel like this is just the beginning of whatever might happen in several hours’ time, not several minutes’. Rey draws her mouth lazily away from his and gazes back at Ben.

“What’s in there?” she whispers.

“What’s in where?” he breathes, leaning in again and this time going for her neck.

Rey cocks her head to the side and tilts her chin to the ceiling, giving him easier access and feeling her bare nipples stiffen further as he puts his lips to the skin just beneath her ear. Ben licks her once then draws away, too, loosening his grip on her as he turns back to face the bench.

“Batter for doughnuts,” Ben says, reaching an arm around now and sinking his hand in the centre of the risen mixture, as she cuddles his middle again and they watch the dough sink, now he’s knocked the air out with his very long fingers.

Ben shifts his body in her arms, facing the bench once more, then tips the contents of the bowl onto a floured board. “Do you know how to knead?”

“Do I know how to  _what?”_

“Nevermind,” Ben says, smiling, as he sprinkles a handful of flour over the top of the still sticky mixture and puts the heel of his palm to it. “I found a recipe on that thing for Dianoga cream-filled doughnuts, they sounded pretty fucking good.”

“Is _that_ why you wanted Dianoga cream, I was wondering what that was for... I thought maybe it was a kink and you were gonna cover me in it or something…”

Ben snorts.

“Well, fuck, that would be fine,” he starts, as he begins to knead the dough with his palms. “We’d still be eating cream.”

 _“You’ll_ be eating cream later anyway, Ben, you know you will.”

 _“You_ will,” he says, smiling, as the dough in his hands begins to take on a silky texture, and Rey stares at it, open-mouthed.

“You’ve watched a  _lot_ of stuff on that holopad in the past three days, haven’t you?”

Ben chuckles, and Rey grins; she likes that sound.

“I watched a bit, there’s not a whole lot else to do while you’re asleep, or out shopping.”

“You’re still not sleeping?”

“Never big on that,” he mumbles, as she watches him work the dough rhythmically.

“Seriously, Ben,” she breathes, hypnotised by his hands. “You are a  _god.”_

He snorts faintly again.

“You wanna help?”

“Yes,” she says. “I do.”

“Get me another beer.”

“There’s a  _word,_ Ben _…”_

“Please.”

“Oh, that’s the word.”

Rey opens the ‘serva and reaches in for two.

“So when’s he getting here?” Ben asks, as he returns the kneaded dough to the bowl, covers it again with the cloth then reaches for the oven mit.

“I’m not really sure,” Rey mumbles, as she takes off the caps of both beers with her teeth.

“Rey, honestly, you invited someone for dinner. How can you possibly have no idea when they’ll get here?”

“I just said come, I didn’t really say when,” she repeats, setting one beer down next to Ben and taking a sip from her own. “I mean, we’ve been staying up half the night since we got here, I spent most of last night outside. What’s time anyway?”

Ben frowns at her.

“Oh,” she adds, setting down her drink. “That reminds me…”

Finn had given her a tracker. She walks to the shelf in the bedroom and rummages through the small leather pouch where she carefully stowed it very early this morning, just before the left the Meltdown.

The device is small and portable, but not the kind you can wear, and hidden away in her pouch she’d forgotten about it ‘til now. Should she fasten it to something? There’s not a whole lot of purchase on her body at present, still dressed as she is in only sensible black briefs.

Rey closes her fist around the palm-sized beacon and carries it back to the kitchenette, then changes her mind, and sets it down on the low black bench below the holoscreen on the wall of the lounge instead.

“He gave you a binary beacon?” Ben asks from the kitchenette.

“Yeah,” she replies, watching its small blue diode blink steadily under the light of the glowpanels in the lounge. “So we’ll know when he’s close.”

“Cloaked?”

Was it?

 _Shit,_ she thinks, because she hadn’t asked; it wasn’t like the one she’d taken all that time ago to Ahch-To, or the ones she’d used in the past year, as she’d moved chaotically around with the Resistance, since the Rebels had left Kashyyyk.

Why hadn’t she asked? Surely Finn wouldn’t give her something traceable… She hadn’t asked because she trusted him...

“Yeah, I think so...,” Rey says slowly, feeling guilty, and she knows Ben senses it.

He sighs through his nose and Rey knows that’s not good.

“I’m sorry…”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“I’m sorry, too, about the other thing…”

“What other thing?” Ben says, sensing again; she can feel it. “The time?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s fine, I’ll just keep his warm, I guess… I mean, it’s not gonna be ready for a little while, anyway...”

Rey smiles from the lounge at Ben, as she watches him return the mit to his hand, kneel and open the oven. He’s taking this rather well. Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s also what happened between him and Finn on the warship. She watches Ben carefully as he pulls out the par-baked pastry from the oven, and sets it down on the stove to cool, removing the beads meticulously first.

 _He’s very meticulous,_ Rey thinks to herself, frowning.  _Has he always been like that?_

“That smells incredible,” she murmurs aloud while supposing in her head that he’s always been anxious, and maybe that transfers to this degree of diligence with things like baking beads.

Still watching him closely, and mulling it over, Rey returns to the kitchenette. She leans over the dish, still cooling on the stove, and breathes in great lungfuls of the faintly toasty, mildly sweet aroma of baked butter pastry, and it makes her salivate.

“You really learnt all this from  _that?”_ she asks.

Ben nods as he takes another sip from his beer. He turns back to the recipe and Rey’s eyes fall on several candles above the ‘serva, left over she supposes from that time they were first here, a year ago, and Ben had pre-lit them all himself, before she even arrived.

 _That was meticulous,_ she thinks.  _Ben is meticulous._

Maybe he would like them again now, the candles… She’s still feeling guilty, and a little bit useless. Rey reaches up, collects two candles and walks them back to the lounge.

“Do we have something to light these with?” she calls from in front of the holoscreen, as she sets the candles down on the bench beneath it.

“Yeah…,” Ben says, slowly.

He’s in the middle of pouring pie filling into the pastry-lined dish.

“Second drawer down, behind me…”

Rey pads back and pulls out the drawer, rummages briefly and collects the small blowtorch.

“Should I put some music on?” she asks, as once a flame has taken to each wick she returns the torch to the drawer, while Ben cuts excess pastry from around the lid of the pie.

“Yeah… there’s this quenk jazz station I think you would like… FM something or other…”

Rey activates the holoscreen.

“FM  _something or other...,”_ she mutters. “That’s not very helpful, Ben…”

She spends a few minutes letting the autotune dial find range on several stations, until something smooth and atmospheric starts, and she settles for that.

“This okay?” she calls as she turns back to Ben, now arranging something else on a tray.

“Mm-hm,” he mumbles somewhat absently, and she smiles across at him. “You wanna do something to help?”

“Yeah,” she says, returning to the kitchenette and collecting her beer from the bench. “What?”

“Go sit on the sofa, I’ll be there soon,” he coaxes, as she watches him roll the last of the doughnuts and position them on the tray. “This is pretty much done...”

Rey grins and returns to the lounge, beer in hand. She straightens the surepp blanket and lies down across its mellowed surface, taking slow sips from the bottle of ale and feeling the impossibly soft texture of the blanket beneath her with her opposite hand.

And after awhile she sets her beer on the floor, rolls to her back and closes her eyes, waiting for Ben to cook her slow food.


	20. Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 4. Part 3 of 5. Ben.

_Thirty standard minutes to prove,_ Ben deliberates, reaching again for the cloth.  _That should be enough time to fuck._

He lays the weave carefully over the spherical forms on the tray, picks up his beer and wanders barefoot to the lounge. For several minutes Ben stands in the middle of the floor - his toes rising and falling on the faux floorboards - feeling their smooth texture with the pads of his feet as he ravishes Rey with his gaze.

She’s lying face up on the albino surepp blanket, bare except for the black full-cut briefs, the waistline ending just below her navel.

Ben likes her in black. It sets off her tan and the smatterings of freckles that dapple her shoulders and face, thighs and calves. And there are several on her arse but he can’t see them now because she lies on her back, knees up. That’s a nice position. He could mount her just like that, kneel between her knees first and stroke up and down her outer thighs.

He takes another sip of the ale in his hand and swills it round his mouth, contemplating how he’d like the next few minutes to pan out.

He’d like to put his mouth to her cunt. He’d like to stand at the edge of the sofa, to the right of where he stands now, near the front door, and take her by the ankles and pull her to its edge. He’d like to kneel on the bare floor between her spread knees and bury his face in her folds, just like he had two nights ago. That had been nice.

 _She’s silky there,_ he thinks vaguely, taking another swill from his beer.  _Silky like the texture of dough, and kind of yeasty sometimes, like beer._

The way she tastes changes. Sometimes she’s sweet and rich and other times more sour, like the yeasty thing he’s recollecting now. Other times she just tastes faintly metallic, usually when they wash together in the ‘fresher or just after, once they’re in bed. This is only their fourth night here, but so far they seem to be in bed after the ‘fresher, and around about here, on the sofa, just before.

Ben takes another mouthful of beer and swills again, and wonders what she tastes like now.

 _Ah, fuck it,_ he thinks as he swallows.  _Enough wondering._

“You cold?” he murmurs, as he places his bottle of ale down next to hers on the floor, and puts a knee to the couch.

Rey opens then closes her eyes and Ben reaches for her closest calf, shifting it a little across the blanketed surface beneath them. He makes room for himself between her legs, leans forward just a little and touches both hands to her waist, stroking for a moment or two before sliding his fingers beneath the band of her briefs on either side of her hips.

“Not cold,” she replies, smiling and lifting the hips. “The heat’s on.”

“You know,” he murmurs, “I didn’t think I’d get drunk off this ale, but I am too drunk to riff off that right now.”

Rey smiles as he works the band below her arse, tugging it down her thighs. She drops back to the sofa as he slides the fabric over her knees, and once they reach her ankles she does the rest with the flick of one foot, all without opening an eyelid. Lightly, he touches her at the outer ankles with his fingertips, and she wriggles.

“Don’t,” she warns, and a faintly maniacal giggle he’s never heard from her in his life escapes as her eyes flick open, and her hands reach out as though by instinct.

“You are  _not_ ticklish,” he murmurs, in disbelief.

“I am  _there,”_ she says, grinning up at him.

Ben lifts his hands.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she says quietly, her eyes hooding again. “Just give me your hands…”

Rey reaches out and he puts his other knee to the surface of the couch and reaches in, letting her take his hands and place them on her knees as she spreads her heels across the surface of the surepp blanket, and he works his way further in between the knees he now holds.

Ben slides his palms beneath the cheeks of her arse, leans back on his heels and lifts her up to his mouth as he watches her, eyes no longer veiled but wide below him, and she’s dropped her jaw. He tips his head to her folds and smells her first, taking several moments to breathe in the warm and faintly brackish scent of her, post-exercise, and that’s more than enough to tempt him to eat her out now.

He opens his mouth and puts his tongue flat to her cunt, shifting the plane of himself slightly across her velour textures, which are already slick even though they haven’t even really done anything yet; or maybe they had, earlier when he’d held her in the kitchen and placed his thigh between hers while they kissed. Maybe she's been doing things over here to herself, too.

She tastes sweet against the sour flavour of the beer coating his palate, and his tongue spends several minutes shifting, creating a small amount of friction - he assumes, and that he hopes she likes - but mostly, as he breathes her in through his nose and watches her breathe through her slackened mouth, he’s identifying flavours, and committing those to memory.

Still holding her by her cheeks with both hands, Ben dips his tongue inside her entrance, then moves his mouth forwards. He kisses at the hood of her clit as he watches her bare chest rise and fall in exaggerated hefts, but mostly his gaze is fixed on her eyes. He likes to watch her eyes, especially when he shifts his mouth, or his lips or tongue, like he does now. He closes his lips around the hood of her clit and sucks lightly, and when her eyes flicker he feels his cock twitch.

Faintly, Ben hears her breathe his name. He extends his tongue and starts to flick it across her clit, which has swollen since he’d first sucked her moments ago. Her eyes flutter again and she rolls her head back as he shifts his hands beneath the warm curves of her arse. He spreads his right palm and redefines its position, working his thumb between her folds while his fingers help his other hand support the weight of her hips.

She brings her ankles to his shoulders and then Ben slides the thumb of his right hand inside her entrance, still flicking her clit with his tongue as he watches her eyes close, and her chest lift, as she arches her back. That part of her leaves the surface of the sofa then, making the pleasure he’s creating in her body with his mouth and his thumb very pleasantly visible.

Ben’s eyes watch her silhouetted tits, each cresting in the hard, blush-coloured point of a nipple, both of which he wants to suck, maybe after he’s done sucking this, but certainly not before; it’s nice here, inside and around her cunt.

He begins to shift his thumb and she moans as she wriggles her hips. He grips her firm in his left hand as his tongue begins to circle and the muscles at her entrance start to pulse around the thickness of the digit.

Ben lifts the fingers of his right hand and drops her slightly with his left, so he can fuck her with his thumb while he feels her come, easing off her clit with his mouth until he’s just thrusting. He presses down against the front inner wall of her with the pad of himself, ‘til he feels the pulsing slow and the tension in the muscles of her whole body release, as she softens like butter beneath his big warm hands.

Rey’s hips slow and then cease the bucking they’d started with her climax. Ben smiles and withdraws his thumb, her ankles still around his neck and his left hand still holding her firm by her left arse cheek. Her eyes return to his, watching him suck her cum slowly from the fingers of his right hand, as he works his shoulders from beneath her lower legs, setting her back down to the blanket carefully, then leaning in as she wraps her legs around his hips.

Her hand reaches down to the waist of his jeans.

“Told you you’d be eating cream,” Rey whispers, as she pulls him to her mouth by the back of his head, while he feels her unfasten his waistband.


	21. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 4. Part 4 of 5. Rey.

Rey works on his belt first, and then the button at the top of his fly, slipping the small metal disc back between its eyelet. She unzips him; he’s been bare beneath the black bootcut jeans, and his stiff cock pronks as he leans in, on a hopeful course for her cunt.

His mouth slides from hers to the sensitive skin below her ear and she feels hot breath against her cheek, thinking he smells of yeast, sugar and petrichor as he shifts his hips, and hers along with them, attempting an entry. But she lifts her upper body, too, and moves her hands to his stomach, putting a very swift end to all that.

“Wait,” she halts, sliding her fingers beneath his black V-neck, her hands slipping just a little across the light coat of sweat blooming at the small of his broad back when her fingers reach round him. “Sit up.”

Ben looks at her with big, pleading eyes, but he does what she says, and she smiles as he lets her coax him over, settling him on his arse, cock still out. And just before she pushes him down to his back she works the V-neck up his torso, lifting his arms as she slides it off him and piffs it to the floor of the lounge. It lands with a thwump on the charcoal rug.

“This music is nice, don’t you think?” Rey says, as she places her hand to Ben’s sternum and pushes him down, to the surepp blanket.

Her hand trails south of his chest as she takes in the shrinking scabs from the blaster shots across his pecs, and then - lower down - the stitches at his flank, which look just about ready for removal.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he mumbles back, eyes flicking across the forms of her, still flushed from her climax, and she nods in approval of his gaze, then straddles him. “All of this is very nice, Rey, very  _safe…”_

She frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he murmurs, smiling up at her. “Come here.”

“No,” she mutters, pausing above his thighs, his cock inches from her spread cunt as she kneels astride him. “What do you mean  _safe?”_

Ben pauses.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says slowly, still smiling. “I meant  _smooth,_ like quenk jazz.”

Rey narrows her eyes and tunes in vaguely as some kind of instrument she can’t name brushes out a soft rhythm across the lounge room.

 _Safe,_ she thinks again to herself, breathing in the scents of the pie in the oven mingled with the light smell of Ben’s sweat, and the mixture of ale and her cunt on his breath.

Rey turns around and shifts herself backwards.

 _“Fuck…,”_ Ben starts up, from somewhere beneath and behind her, as his hands grab her roughly by the hips and pull her bare arse down to his face.

At first she shifts back again, still facing his feet. She tugs his lower legs to the right by the cuffs of his jeans, then leans forward again and moves beyond his toes; Rey reaches for the lip of the storage compartment beneath the sofa’s chaise.

She’d seen it last night, as she rummaged around in here for a blaster, before leaving to shop. It’s only small, and it’s black, which means it’s difficult to find amongst the jumble of weapons and kink paraphernalia that Ben is clearly very into, based on the contents of this well-equipped box beneath the sofa.

And as she fumbles through the large compartment, eventually she feels it, recognising the texture of the satin, the same as the sheets on their bed. And when she pulls the small garment from within the depths of the hidden storage chamber, Rey smiles.

 _Safe,_ she thinks.

She turns back to face Ben, repositioning her thighs across his, and while she does she can’t help but stroke the hot hard length of him encouragingly with her left hand, as her right extends in his direction the soft, black satin blindfold.

“Put it on,” she whispers.

Rey can smell the pie, baking in the oven.

“Yes,” he breathes, reaching up. “ _Mistress.”_

It’s a comforting aroma and Ben seems comfortable, until the beacon Finn gave her last night begins a sequence of fateful sounds. Rey feels Ben’s body tense beneath her, and senses his comfort clouding, shifting and changing.

“Relax, there’s still time before he gets here,” she soothes, stroking again at Ben’s length. “And I said put it on, _Kylo.”_

 _“Mistress,”_ he repeats as he settles the blindfold over his eyes and she slips the band around the back of his head, then trails her right hand to his mandible.

For the past three days, shadows have steadily emerged across Ben’s upper lip, across his soft jaw, and just beneath it. Now, as Rey observes his lower face, partially masked by the black satin blindfold, she notes how these shadows rim his gaping mouth. Thoughts of the pillowy lips they hedge make her salivate, like the smells of baking pie that tempt her from the oven.

“Do you still feel safe?” she asks quietly, cupping one side of his face and brushing her thumb along the dark hairs sprouting there now.

“I don’t know,” he breathes, and when Rey places her hands to his abdomen, flattening them to the hard contours that ripple across his lower torso, she feels him tensing again. “No.”

Rey leans in. She lowers her mouth to his, brushing her lips to Ben’s, as soft beats from the music merge with tinny echoes from the beacon in the background.

His mouth presses back against her so hard and so fast then that their teeth knock together. His hands grip at her bare back. She reaches out, grasping for something to steady herself with as she loses purchase on his stomach, and her hands come to ground on the slippery surface of the surepp blanket beneath them.

 _“Fuck,”_ she huffs, not needing to sense to know now that Ben’s panicking.

But does that mean he wants her to stop?

“Too much?” she whispers, still stroking at his abs, appraising the regulated texture of the stitches in his flank with the tips of her fingers, and watching his chest rise and fall with the laboured breaths he’s taking.

“Yes,” he says, barely above a whisper, and Rey slides the blindfold up his forehead and looks deep into his dark, nervous eyes as they flick across her face, his hard and heavy breathing still very evident.

“It’s okay,” Rey whispers again, as she shifts up his thighs, takes his cock in her right hand and guides it inside the tight folds of her warm, safe cunt.

“I’m still here,” she breathes.

She settles down to his balls, then draws herself along him as she watches the twitch that’s begun beneath his eye, and listens to the ragged breaths he takes. Slowly, as she undulates above him to the mellow rhythms of the music playing from the holoscreen, his inhalations lengthen and his exhalations start to match hers as Ben and Rey begin to breathe in unison.

“Smooth like jazz,” Rey murmurs, grinning and pulling herself along him again, and watching his eyes veiling now. He’s holding breaths, and she can feel him getting closer, see it in his face and upper body, as his lower lip tenses and the muscles in his neck begin to clench.

Rey leans back on Ben’s length and brings a hand to her nipple, tweaking at herself as she stares down at him, staring back. His eyes narrow and his hips start to buck.

“I’m gonna come,” he huffs. “That okay?”

“Yeah, I got herbs this morning,” she breathes, still playing with her nipple and grinding down on his cock as he thrusts up into her, and then he starts to groan.

“Oh,  _fuck,”_ he pants, as his lower lip tenses again and trembles.  _“Rey…”_

She reaches behind herself with her free hand and grips his jeaned thigh, the one still marked by stim-shot entries. As Ben comes inside her, she feels the muscle in his upper leg clench and he groans again, a much more vulnerable sound this time. He tips back his head, and she thinks she might come again, as she pulls at her nipple, watching him beneath her and starting to rub at her clit.

Rey breathes hard, feeling close. Ben lifts a hand and palms her free breast, his fingers fumbling through his latent afterglow to find her stiffened point. She rubs harder at her clit with the pads of her fingers and gasps when he tugs her at last, pulling her down to him as she comes, which is fine, because she’s collapsing now into him anyway.

 _“Ben,”_ she gasps into his neck, pulsing and grinding again, his slaked cock still inside her. “Holy shit, that was  _so_ good…”

For several moments they lie together on the rumpled surepp blanket, the beacon still sounding and something faintly jazzy still playing out a rhythm from the holoscreen.

“Don’t you have something in the oven?” she eventually says to Ben.

“Oh, shit, yeah,” he sighs. “I should probably check on that.”

Rey lifts her head, kisses his mouth, then sits up. Ben rises more slowly, hauling himself off the sofa, fastening his jeans and belt and heading back to the kitchenette, as she races for the ‘fresher in the hope there’s still time to clean up before Finn arrives.

“Moderate hot,” she says, stepping beneath the stream and reaching for the bar of trillium soap.

As she scrubs Ben’s cum from her thicket of hair, Rey’s stomach drops at the thought of the briefs and the blindfold she doubts Ben’s had the presence of mind yet to hide.

 _Maybe there’s still time to grab them,_ she thinks, washing the last of the soap from her body, shutting off the ‘fresher, and bolting to the sonic, but it’s too late.

“Fuck,” she breathes, as she hears the front door latch and then the deep tones of Ben’s voice say something she can’t quite make out.

But the next part she can, and it makes her heart pound as she searches the bathroom for something to wear.

“Ben,” Finn says from the lounge. “Rey said you were safe.”


	22. Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 4. Part 5 of 5. Ben.

_Safe,_ Ben thinks, as Finn’s words echo.

Ben’s still shaken, a feeling that began when Rey lowered the blindfold, while he’d been laid on his back on the sofa, cock out and prone. She’d brought him back from that but then gone to wash and now Ben’s nerves are fragile; no longer frayed, but definitely fraught.

“Yes,” Ben mumbles in response to Finn’s statement, padding barefoot to the couch, collecting the bottles he and Rey left on the floor, along with the blindfold; he tucks that inside the back pocket of his jeans.

Finn hovers in the centre of the lounge.

“You want a beer?” Ben asks.

Ben crosses back to the kitchenette then turns to look him over again, pausing to wait for his answer.

“Sure,” Finn says.

Ben opens the door of the ‘serva and reaches in for two more bottles of the Trandoshan ale Rey bought him this morning.

“Ben?” Finn asks.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

“There is a reason you asked that,” Ben says.

“The reason is I want to know.”

“I’m fine.”

Ben senses.

“You asked Rey that,” he says, quietly. “You asked her that about me. When you spoke to her in the diner.”

“Yeah, I did,” Finn says. “But I want to hear it from you.”

“I’m fine,” Ben repeats.

“Okay.”

“Sit down if you want,” Ben says, hinting at the sofa as he opens the second drawer down, searching for a church key and thinking he should probably show this to Rey, so she doesn’t have to use her teeth anymore, although he likes it when she uses her teeth.

“Okay, thanks,” Finn repeats, beginning to move. “So, you know it’s really hot in here, right?”

Ben glances over at him, still wearing a full kit of bounty hunter garb minus the helmet, which he’d taken off and tucked beneath his arm before Ben opened the door. Ben’s feet are bare and all he wears are the black bootcut jeans, his V-neck still lying in a rumpled heap on the charcoal rug where Rey flung it earlier. Her underwear is still somewhere, too, he remembers now.

“Take it off, if you want,” Ben suggests. “You can change in there.”

Ben indicates the doorway to the left of the kitchen, just past the ensuite, which leads to the bedroom. “You need clothes?”

“Ah, yeah, all I got under this is a body glove.”

Ben nods.

“You can wear just that here, it’s fine,” he says. “Or, if you’d prefer not to, then…”

“Ah, well, I could, I guess.”

Ben looks him up and down, takes another sip of beer, then turns back to the kitchenette.

“If you want, you can wear my clothes,” he mutters, turning his attention to the cooling dianoga pie on the stove. “If you want to. Up to you. Clothes are important.”

“Ah, okay,” Finn says. “Thanks.”

Ben takes another sip of beer, still staring at the pie.

“There’s a storage drawer under the bed, or...”

He pauses for another moment, and takes a deep breath.

“If you want, there’s some other stuff hanging in the wardrobe.”

 _Fuck,_ Ben thinks, sighing heavily at the thought of his father’s old clothes again.

His stomach churns out of habit.

“Ben?” Finn asks.

“What?”

“You still okay?”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Finn asks, slowly.

“Maybe,” Ben mutters, setting his beer on the bench and anchoring his hands either side of the stove, head still down. “But I need to do this first.”

“You want help?” Finn asks, still asking slowly.

“Maybe,” he mumbles again. “But you need to change first.”

“I don’t really,” Finn says. “I could just take off the gauntlets, and then I could at least use my hands...”

“Okay,” Ben murmurs, still staring down at the pie.

Ben hasn’t looked much at Finn as they’ve talked, but he’s sensed his proximity, as slowly Finn’s hovered his way to the kitchenette’s entrance. Now, as Finn turns and walks back to the sofa, Ben turns his head as he watches the other man remove the armour from his hands.

On the warship, when he, Finn and Rey had blown that fucking thing to kingdom come, when Finn had given Ben as many stim-shots as he’d asked for, somehow that had made Ben feel safe, as safe as he feels now with Finn by the sofa, removing his armour, with Rey in the ‘fresher, removing his cum, and with the ale in his hand, removing the edges. Still shaken, but just safe enough now to think about this.

Blaster shots alone should have killed him four days ago, Ben knows that. The bolt from Chewie’s crossbow had missed his vitals but blaster shots alone should have killed him and they hadn’t. And they hadn’t because of Finn.

Finn understood what it meant to use stim-shots in battle, because Finn had been trained in the same way as Ben when it came to things like that; there were methods only First Order militia used, and that was one of them; substance abuse.

Ben swallows, tracing the tip of his tongue across his palate, recoiling as the bitter aftertaste of the ale lingers at the back of his mouth, like bile.

Ben should have died on the warship, one way or the other. He should have died there in the flaming ruins of the Mega-Destroyer, either as Supreme Leader of the First Order or as Han and Leia’s son. Either as Kylo Ren or as Ben Solo. One way or the other, he should’ve been turned to ash - victim or hero - but it hadn’t happened like that.

Ben had survived, and by no accident, just like his grandfather. And just like his grandfather, it’s not because - four days ago - Ben had somehow lucked in. It’s not because the Rebels were fucking useless with blasters, they weren’t. It’s not even because of the adrenaline, or the Force, although both those things helped. Ben had survived because of Rey and Finn, and he knows it. He knows it very well.

“Ben?”

Ben tries to swallow again, but his throat is too thick.

“You okay?” Finn asks, from somewhere near.

He’s choking, and then something happens that hasn’t in a long time. A man puts his arms around Ben, and Ben puts his head on that man’s shoulder as Finn holds him close, and it feels nice. It feels nice to have a friend, and now Ben has two.


	23. Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 5. Part 1 of 6. Rey.

Rey can’t hear the sounds of speeders; it must be much later than just early evening. Last night she and Ben woke at dusk, but they’ve slept through that tonight.

The differences between night and day are becoming less and less clear, but she and Ben are still more active at nighttime; Rey knows she can still only leave the apartment then, and even though he can’t leave it at all, their rhythms are synchronising.

Steady rain pours from the sky outside, washing the grime from the concrete below. Rey lies warm in bed on her belly, listening to its soothing beat over Ben’s deep snores as he lies beside her, his scarred cheek pressed to a black satin pillow.

These have become familiar sounds - the rain and the snores - and his resting form feels familiarly cozy. She wriggles closer, kisses his shoulder, and props herself up on her elbows to gaze.

The dark hairs are spread like wings above his upper lip, each singular hair straight as the cedar venetians of the apartment’s only window, the one they lie beneath. Rey leans in and touches her lips to his sleeping mouth, slightly ajar, feeling the soft new growth around it again. Natural and shadowy, it’s no longer scratchy, and it tickles at Rey when she kisses Ben.

She leans back and reaches out a hand to touch the unscarred cheek she can see. Her palm cups around his jaw, and then she shifts a little to press her fingers to the muzzle of hair that’s emerged along the soft form of his mandible, and beneath his chin. At the touch of her fingers, his visible eye opens a sliver, and it blinks.

“Hi,” Rey whispers. “Rebel.”

Ben shifts his head on the pillow, then rolls to his back and looks up at her.

“You slept a long time,” she murmurs, surprised.

His mouth twitches in a faint smile at the corners.

“What did you call me?”

Rey grins.

_“Rebel.”_

Ben snorts.

“There’s no such thing anymore,” he says.

“There is so,” she cuts.

 _“You’re_ a Rebel,” he whispers.

“You are, too,” she whispers back. “Finn agrees with me.”

“Oh,” Ben murmurs, raising his eyebrows and reaching a hand up to itch at the healing scabs from the blaster wounds that still mark his chest. “He’s still here?”

“Yes,” she murmurs back.

Rey reaches out and places her hand to Ben’s, lifting it away from the scabbing.

“Don’t pick at scabs,” she whispers, bringing his hand to her mouth and kissing at the tips of his fingers.

“But they’re so fucking itchy,” he mumbles.

“You  _fuck_ a Rebel,” she whispers, in an effort to distract him from the scabs. “You fuck her  _deep.”_

Ben grins.

“I live with her, too,” he boasts.

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“She’s more than that.”

“Your  _Mistress.”_

“More than that, too,” Ben breathes. “I love you.”

“You don’t love your other Mistresses?”

“I don’t have other Mistresses,” he chuckles. “Only you.”

“What about your other  _sweethearts?”_

“Still just you.”

“Good,” Rey says, shifting their hands and leaning in to brush her lips across Ben’s mouth.

“One day,” he says, “When I can leave here, you’ll understand how much you mean to me.”

“I already do, I already do understand that, Ben.”

“No you don’t, Rey,” he whispers, seriously. “You joke about it all the time.”

She frowns.

“Don’t do that,” Ben chuckles, again.

“Don’t do what?” she asks.

“Frown at me like that.”

 _“Frown_ at you?” she says, frowning. “Why the fuck not?”

Ben laughs.

“I’m waiting ‘til it’s special.”

Rey gazes down at Ben. The sleep has left his eyes and they seem brighter. Slightly foggy, maybe from the after-effects of all the ale they drank last night with Finn. But Ben’s eyes are also wide and something in them seems to have shifted, she can sense it. She looks up towards the window above them.

The light now is low and atmospheric. When she spreads her hands flat to the soft, satin sheet beneath them it’s cozy. Rey used to live inside scrap metal. Then on the ground, then on a bunch of ships. When they first arrived here she thought this would be temporary, but it’s grown on her already; she likes it.

“Ben,  _this_ is special,” she says, bewildered. “And besides, you  _like_ it here, you  _told_ me you do...”

“I know,” he murmurs.

They gaze at each for several minutes. Eventually she leans in and brushes her lips across his mouth again, then lifts her hand up to cup his jaw.

“Rey?” he murmurs, as she strokes at his cheek with her thumb.

“Yes?”

Ben pauses and she waits.

“I need to get out of here,” he says.

“It’s about fucking time you said that,” she whispers back, smiling, and still brushing at his cheek with her thumb. “You know, you look different in all this…  _manhood.”_

Ben blinks.

“The hair?”

“Yeah.”

“My  _‘stache,”_ he says.

Rey snorts.

“Your  _what?”_

“My ‘stache,” he repeats, grinning. “Moustache.”

She gives him an appalled look.

“It’s not really a moustache Ben it’s more like a… mouthbrow.”

“Fuck you, Rey, a  _what?”_

“A mouthbrow, Ben,” she says, smiling.

“I’ll mouthbrow you in a minute.”

Rey laughs.

“And the beard,” she adds. “And Ben…”

“Yeah?”

Rey tucks his hair behind his ears. She pulls it back taught and the ears stick out. She scrunches her nose, lifts the long ends of his locks and they settle above his upper ear folds, so that just the lobes are visible.

“This,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes, cocking her head and leaning back a little.

“You look different in this too, Ben.”

“It’s still me.”  

“It is still you, but it’s also different,” she murmurs. “You look like… a  _Ben.”_

“A  _Ben?”_

“Yes,” she says. “You look like a  _Ben.”_

“As opposed to  _Ben,_ I look like  _a_ Ben?”

“No,” she whispers, slowly. “You don’t look like Kylo now. Just _Ben.”_

He blinks.

“They’re not different people, Rey.”

“I know that, because I know you, but nobody else knows you like me and to them you look like Kylo now, but like  _this,”_ she ends, “You look like  _Ben.”_

“A Rebel?”

 _Yes,_ Rey thinks, as she presses her mouth to his upper lip again.  _Exactly like a Rebel._


	24. Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 5. Part 2 of 6. Ben.

Her lashes are lowered this time, he notes, as he closes his lips around Rey’s mouth. Then his stomach growls and she draws away, grinning.

“Eat, fuck, wash,” Ben murmurs, grinning back. “In that order.”

“I’ll lie here ‘til the washing part, then,” she says, rolling to her back. “There’s a fuck tonne of washing, by the way.”

“No, you’re getting the food and I’m staying here,” Ben says. “Then we’re fucking, and I didn’t mean that kind of washing, but I’m not doing that either.”

“No way,” Rey says, pulling up the black satin sheet and wriggling down beneath it. “I’m not hungry yet anyway, let’s just do the second thing.”

“Okay,” he says, throwing back the sheet and climbing above her as she starts to giggle.

“What is with this giggling shit you keep doing?” he says, gazing down at her naked body and wondering where to put his mouth first. “I never heard you giggle ‘til we came here.”

They both pause for a moment. Ben watches a faint frown cross her brow like a cloud. It makes his stomach flip and he grins harder, like the fool he is for her, as he dips his head to her belly.

“You remember Finn’s still here, right?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” Ben murmurs, lifting his head, his mouth hovering just above her solar plexus.

He hasn’t forgotten that, although he’d been too drunk by the time the sun had risen this morning to really pay too much attention to anything but letting his groggy head find its way to the pillows of this bed. He can’t recall waking much during the day. Alcohol seemed to deepen his sleep, to dull his senses. When he didn’t drink, his sleep was addled and broken, but this was more than the result of just alcohol.

Something happened last night in the kitchenette, when Rey hadn’t been there and he and Finn had been alone. And that thing had somehow made him feel settled in a way Rey didn’t, and it’s making Ben nervous. His grin falters.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I don’t really care, the door’s closed anyway.”

 _That’s somewhat true,_ he thinks to himself _. The door is closed._

Ben shifts his mouth and lowers it now to the alluring curve beneath Rey’s left breast. WIth his lips he kneads slowly, but his mind is still in the kitchenette.

 _You’re getting weak,_ he thinks to himself, as he tries to wrench his mind back to her body.  _Focus._

Ben works his way to Rey’s nipple, still soft, the areola still spread. He kisses her there, then works her with his tongue until he feels her nipple stiffen in his mouth. When it rises he closes his lips around the hard tip, sucking gently ‘til she pants and her hips start to move.

But his mind is still in the kitchenette and now there’s something he smells that’s not the sweet scent of her skin mingled with the faint traces of trillium soap, left from when she washed last night while he was alone with Finn.

 _Fuck,_ Ben thinks, as the grin fades.  _Stop it._

It’s the steely scent of armour. Ben lifts his head.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes.

“I can’t do this now,” he mutters, watching her take several deep breaths before she speaks again, sensing.

“Because Finn’s here?” she whispers.

 _Is that why?_ he thinks to himself.

Is he just sensing Finn out there, still asleep on the sofa in the lounge room?

“No,” Ben murmurs, shifting his body to one side of hers and then laying his head on her breast.

But he’s not sure that’s true.

 _You’re weak,_ he thinks again to himself.  _You’re still nothing but a weak fuck who can’t even admit..._

“Do you want me to go out for awhile?” Rey whispers, as Ben feels her fingers begin to play with the ends of the long hair at the base of his neck.

Ben tilts his head up. She’s looking down at him with wide, earnest eyes.

“Why would I want you to do that?” he mutters, as his stomach begins to churn.

“Well, maybe so you could, you know…,” she begins.

Ben’s heart rockets to his mouth. His jaw tightens.

 _Say it,_ he thinks to her.

“Explore your urges,” she whispers, as her fingers continue to work their way lazily through his hair.

“It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” Ben whispers, still gazing up at her, and now he’s chewing at his lower lip again.

Ben’s heart is racing, his stomach is clenched as tight as his jaw and he knows Rey can sense both these things, and everything inside his head, as he thinks again of last night in the kitchenette.

Her hand is still working its way through his hair. Ben reaches out for her free one, lacing his fingers in and out of hers, nervous and unsure of his feelings. Tears prickle at the corners of Ben’s eyes. He has no idea why.

 _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ he thinks to Rey through the bond, unable to speak.

 _Nothing, Ben,_ she thinks back.  _Nothing at all is wrong with you._

She brings their laced hands to her mouth and kisses his curled fingers.

“Sometimes,” he hears her say quietly, as she brushes her lips against his knuckles, “On Kashyyyk, I used to talk to Rose.”

Ben jolts and the hand she has in his hair stops its stroking, cups the back of his head protectively and pulls him in closer.

“We used to talk about everything,” she continues, in barely more than a murmur. “It almost felt like… like I don’t really know what, but… I did used to wonder...”

“Wonder what?” Ben says.

“Why I couldn’t talk to you like that, Ben,” she says. “Why I could say things to Rose that I couldn’t say to you. Things about you, and things about other things that had nothing to do with you. It was almost as though…”

Ben’s stomach clenches.

“As though what?” he whispers.

“I loved Rose, too, Ben,” she breathes. “And I miss her, I miss talking to her. And I love you so much, you’re my very best friend, but you’re not her…”

“I can’t talk to him,” Ben mutters. “It’s weird, it’s not like talking to you, Rey.”

“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t  _try,_ Ben,” she says, gently. “Finn’s good at talking, he really is, and he’s  _really_ good at  _listening...”_

Ben sighs.

“What happened?” she asks.

“What?”

“In the kitchenette, last night, before I finished in the ‘fresher,” she says. “What happened between you and Finn?”

Ben swallows, feeling the same lump return to his throat that had affected him last night.

“We didn’t talk,” he says, stiffly. “I tried to tell him…”

“Tell him what?” Rey whispers.

“I tried to tell him about myself,” Ben chokes, as his voice cracks and Rey presses his head down to her breast.

Ben nuzzles her there as hot tears escape his eyes. His mouth is pressed to her warm, scented skin and he finds himself working his lower lip against it. Then his mouth starts to work its way up, tasting the salt of his tears on her skin and following the scent as it grows stronger, as he tracks an invisible and familiar path to her neck.

“Rey?” he says, reaching the delicate skin beneath her ear as the scent of the steel disappears, and now he just smells sweet Mysess.

“Ben?”

“Turn around.”


	25. Reciprocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 5. Part 3 of 6. Rey.

Rey rolls to her belly again. Ben lifts her gently by the hips and slides her along the satin bedclothes, so her knees spread wide. She wants to drop her head to the pillow, push herself back further and let him fuck her just like this, but her mind is still on their conversation, and his feelings. She turns her head to where she feels his mouth, kissing away to one side of her nape, sending a frisson across her skin, all the way down to her cunt.

“Ben?”

“Mistress?” he breathes, as she feels him start to rub the head of his cock along her seam.

“Do you want to keep talking about Finn?”

“Maybe after this,” he murmurs, as one of his hands sneaks its way to her breast, and palms it.

She raises higher on her elbows and he plays with her nipple. Her breath shudders while he pulls at her softly and rubs his cock along her seam again, then holds it to her clit.

Rey sighs heavily, and pushes her arse back hard against him, wanting more than just what he’s giving her now.

“Do you want me inside you?” he whispers.

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“Where do you want me?” he whispers again.

 _You know where,_ she thinks.

She lacks the nerve to say it, and he hasn’t tried it since that first time a year ago when they’d been here in the ‘fresher, but she’s thought about it. Usually here in the apartment in day, when she’s drifted awake for a moment and felt him next to her, she’s remembered it. Sometimes in night, when they’ve made love here in bed or out on the sofa, she’s wished he’d just do it so she wouldn’t have to ask. There are things Ben can’t say, that he needs her to say for him, things about his feelings, and now there are things she needs him to say, too, because just like him she can’t.

“In your arse?”

“Yes,” Rey shudders. “There.”

“You want me to finger your arsehole?”

She swallows and sighs and pushes herself against him, working downwards first so she catches the tip of his cock, and they both gasp as it skiffs against her rim when she twerks up again.

“Please,” she breathes.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

Rey feels cool air on her skin. When she turns, she realizes he’s reached for something in the drawer of the small table beside the bed; a small tube he squeezes against the pad of his left forefinger, then drops to the mattress before pressing his warmth to her again. Ben shifts his right hand to her folds and dips two fingers just inside them.

“You’re so wet already,” he says, as he withdraws the hand, shifts himself closer and then the same hand finds her right breast.

Rey feels Ben press the pad of his forefinger against the rim of her arsehole. She pushes back and holds her breath as she feels it circle, slightly cold from whatever he squeezed onto it earlier. As the fingers of his other hand rub at her nipple she pushes out instinctively, a sensation she remembers, like gaping; if she could pull his finger inside her now she would.

But she doesn’t need to. As she bears down she feels him slide it in and her mouth goes slack as she releases the breath, her back arching as though in slow motion as he glides in further.

“Oh, fuck,  _Ben,”_ she moans, as slowly he sinks himself in and out of her arsehole with his lubed forefinger while his others twist deliciously at her nipple.

Rey brings one hand to her clit and starts to rub furiously, panting as he finger-fucks her arse. She listens to Ben breathing hard behind and above her. And when she comes she cries out, forgetting in the obscene pleasure of the pulsing she can feel in the muscles of her anus and cunt - the culmination of a thing she’s fantasised about for a year, wiping her mind of everything but this feeling of Ben’s finger in her tight hole - that they’re not alone in the apartment; Finn’s still on the sofa.

Rey moans Ben’s name again and he groans back as his hand leaves her breast. His finger is gone and something hot lands between her cheeks. She thinks he breathes her name then, that she can hear him say it beneath the sounds of her own heavy panting, and the almost wet, slathering sounds he’s making behind her. Rey turns, as the last of his cum leaves the ruddied tip of his cock, still gripped in his hand as it jerks.

He looks like the most delicious dessert she’s ever eaten, which was probably the donuts he’d made for her and Finn last night, and with wanton disregard for the mess it will leave Rey pulls him down by his shoulders. She lies with abandon on her back, her arse glazed by his spend, and she holds him against her.

“I love you so fucking much, Ben,” she pants.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs. “That was so fucking hot, I couldn’t hold it.”

“It was  _so_ good…”

He looks up at her, mouth slack, as though he wants to say more but can’t yet.

“‘Fresher?” she whispers.

 _In a minute,_ he thinks, still breathing hard and shifting above her, kissing at her breasts and tonguing at her nipple, then collapsing again.

“You know, I thought about doing that to you the other night,” he murmurs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Two nights ago, when you went out to shop.”

She shifts her arm and slings it around his back, slick with sweat, drawing him closer. Ben’s head comes to rest on her shoulder and she puts her lips to his hair in a soft kiss.

“Ben?”

“Mm?”

“After we wash, I’m gonna go out again for awhile, okay?”

“Finn’s still here,” he says, still breathy.

“I know, I just want you to hang out with him for awhile,” she says.

He looks up at her and she can sense a protest.

“No, Ben,” she says firmly. “We’re washing, I’m gonna eat something, and then I’m gonna go out for awhile so you two can be alone, it won’t be for long.”

She touches her fingers to his upper lip.

“Mouthbrow,” she whispers, smiling.

“Fuck you,” he whispers back, smiling too.


	26. Urges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 5. Part 4 of 6. Ben.

Ben hauls himself up off the bed and Rey mirrors the action, but from that point their movements diverge. As she stretches, he inspects his naked body, contemplating the need for clothes; he does need clothes, Finn’s still out there in the lounge room. Ben glances at Rey again. She drops her limbs and walks nude to the bedroom door.

 _“Rey,”_ he hisses. “Put some fucking clothes on first.”

“Why?” she says, frowning. “It’s only  _Finn,_ Ben.”

She opens the door and walks out.

“Holy shit,” he breathes; he is definitely not doing that.

Ben looks down at the rumpled, black satin sheet, streaked in cum transferred from her backside; a print of the ribbony patterns he’d left on her arse. Wrenching the sheet from the bed, Ben furls it once then wraps it around his lower half and tucks it just above his groin.

Satisfied by the coverage, he leaves the bedroom, fixing his gaze to the floor and trying not to look towards the sofa; trying to sneak past unnoticed, although the satin fabric of the sheet he’s wrapped in swishes across the horizontal surface each time he moves.

 _Shit,_ Ben thinks.  _Could this thing be any fucking louder if it tried?_

“So, at this time,” he hears Finn say from the sofa, “Do you guys say  _morning_ or  _evening?_ ‘Cause this is nighttime, but since this morning you two have been  _sleeping.”_

Ben notes his use of air quotes around this final word.

“And your point is...?” Ben asks, wryly.

“Do I say  _good morning_ or  _good evening_ to you now?”

“Are you really still here?” Ben cuts.

“Yeah, I am,” Finn says, grinning. “And I’m gonna go with  _good evening,_ Ben.”

Ben had a very clear plan for the ‘fresher a moment ago, and he senses for Rey there; naked and wet, her body steaming and lathered in soap. He thinks of her arse again, hot for him. Her mouth open, and pleading for something she wants him to do to her with his hands, or his mouth, or his cock. But it’s Finn who’s in front of him now.

“You want some caf?” Ben hears himself say.

“Sure,” Finn answers. “But you go wash, that’s okay. I mean, I’d wanna do that now, too, if I was you.”

“You’re not me,” Ben says.

“But we’re not that different.”

Ben swishes his way to the kitchen. He washes his hands, opens a cupboard and removes the jar of caf. He senses Finn, about to stand and leave the sofa.

“Stay there,” Ben orders, his stomach clenching, and Finn obeys.

Ben fills the percolator with water and caf grinds, then turns on the stove. With care he arranges three small ceramic cups on the kitchenette’s island bench, then opens the ‘serva.

“You’re hungry,” Ben says, sensing again as he removes chilled plates of leftover doughnuts and pie, not bothering to heat them; just setting the plates straight on the bench by the cups.

“Starving,” Finn admits.

When the percolator whistles Ben lifts it from the heat. While it cools he walks the plates of food to Finn in the lounge, setting them down on the small caf table.

“Help yourself,” Ben murmurs, as he side-eyes Finn.

He sits in much the same position as when Ben first glimpsed him several minutes ago, as he’d cautiously left the bedroom. Finn’s back is straight, not slumped on the cushions like Ben usually sits, when he sits here with Rey. One knee is bent at a right-angle and the other is relaxed, the ankle stretched out in front. His forearm is propped over the raised knee. It’s a pensive pose, when Ben puts it all together; measured, and yet not at all forced.

Finn reaches for a doughnut and Ben takes a slice of the dianoga pie. Then Ben shifts his broad frame slowly and pads back to the kitchenette, still wrapped in the sheet, demolishing the pie as he goes and it’s gone by the time he reaches the stove. He lifts the cooled percolator and pours warm caf into two of the three cups on the bench, then walks them back to Finn.

“Take it,” Ben says, holding out the cup, and when Finn accepts Ben sits.

Suddenly he’s aware of how naked he is next to Finn, and how awkward it is to sit here like this, wrapped in a bedsheet. He crosses his legs and leans forward, shifting his centre of gravity and resting his right forearm on the thigh of his crossed right leg, which he’s crossed towards Finn, his bare, broad shoulders slanted forwards, also angled towards Finn.

“Oh, shit, I forgot,” Ben mumbles. “Did you want cream or sugar?”

“No, I’m good.”

Ben takes a sip of caf, then sets the cup down and reaches for a second slice of pie.

“Did you sleep okay?” Ben asks, taking another enormous mouthful.

“Yeah, fine,” he says.

Ben swallows.

“It’s comfortable?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

“We never  _sleep_ here, we just… you know.”

“Fuck?”

Ben nods, inhaling the rest of the pie.

He’s glad his mouth’s full because he wants to say several things now to Finn, some relating to more recent events than others, but he’s not sure the words will come out right. One of the things has been on his mind since Finn arrived here: that Ben’s glad he isn’t stardust right now, and that he’s grateful. That he’s grateful to Finn for that. Ben’s done nothing to deserve what surrounds him now, including the company of this man. But he can’t say that; he can’t find the words. They’re not all there yet and besides, his mouth’s already full.

Ben licks at the crumbs from the pie on his fingers instead. He stares down at the black satin sheet covering his lower body. Some of the tucking is coming loose around his groin, he notes, but he’s still fairly covered. Has Finn noticed that? Ben side-eyes him again. He’s looking back at him, his own eyes wide like Rey’s. They’re honest eyes. Ben swallows, unnerved.

He’s felt it before, unnerved by this man, when he first noticed Finn in the Jakku desert beneath a mask. So long ago now, when they’d both been masked. But Finn’s not masked now; he’s dressed in the set of clothes Ben gave him last night to sleep in - one of his father’s old stucco-coloured V-necks and a new pair of navy blue joggers. And Ben’s not masked, either. He’s very, very unmasked right now.

Ben takes a very deep breath, because he’s never said this aloud before, not even to Rey.

“Finn?”

“Ben?”

 _Fuck,_ Ben thinks, reaching for his cup of caf; all of a sudden he urgently needs something to do with his hands.

“When did you start calling me that?”

“Calling you  _Ben?”_ Finn asks.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know?”

“Would I ask you if I knew?” Ben cuts, without meaning to.

“On Kashyyyk,” Finn answers, sipping his caf, “We saw you and Rey, and Rose asked me what your name was.”

Ben jolts, and a small amount of caf spills across his lap.

 _“Fuck,”_ he cusses, standing and setting the cup back down on the table.

The sheet slips below his hips. Ben looks down and sighs. Finn shifts on the edge of the sofa, averting his gaze, and Rey returns from the ‘fresher, wearing the black szona body glove.

“Holy shit,” she snorts. “Well, that didn’t take long.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Ben says, quickly.

Finn stays silent, but Ben can sense him grinning.

“Sit down, Ben,” Rey says. “Is that caf I can smell?”

“I’m not fucking wearing anything,” Ben begins in protest. “I’m not sitting here…”

“Yes, you are,” Rey says, firmly, pointing a finger in emphasis, and Ben knows he can’t argue with that. “Sit the fuck down, Ben.”

He sits stiffly, and Rey turns and walks to the kitchenette.

“I’m not looking,” Finn murmurs to Ben.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

Rey’s pouring caf. Then, Ben hears her begin to fuss over something, and he thinks she might be searching for the cream and sugar.

“Finn?” he says, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you say  _Ben?”_

“What?”

Ben turns his head to look Finn straight in the eyes.

“You said before,” Ben murmurs, sensing, “That you found us, on Kashyyyk... asleep.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “I did say that.”

“It was in the Glade…”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you say  _Ben?_ Why didn’t you say...?”

Finn leans in, his eyes wide, and Ben thinks he can see now what Rey does. Ben senses again, gently feeling everything inside Finn’s open heart, and probing just as gently inside his head. There’s no masking. There’s just a truth - a fuck tonne of truth - that this man believes in.

“Because Rose said Rey loved you, and I believed them both,” Finn says, slowly. “You say you’re not, Ben, but I know you’re more like me than you think.”

Ben wants to tell Finn now. Ben wants to tell Finn that he thinks of him as a friend. Tell him that aloud, with words, and also tell him that Ben has never had a male friend before now. Fuck, until he met Rey he’d never had a female one, either. And Ben has certainly never been held like Finn had held him last night, by a man he didn’t share blood with. Ben wants to say he wants to be friends with Finn. But the words won’t come.

Ben sits naked next to Finn on the sofa and stares at him, as Finn stares back with his warm cup of caf still in his hand.

“Do you ever feel,” Ben murmurs, “Sick for no reason?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Sometimes.”

“I can’t leave here,” Ben mutters, looking down at his naked body.

“Well, not like  _that,_ you can’t.”

“I’m stuck here.”

“You’re not,” Finn whispers. “You just need the right clothes...”

Ben looks up again into Finn’s wide earnest eyes, and - once again - he’s reminded of Rey’s.

“I mean,” Finn adds, gently, “You saw what I arrived here in, right? And Rey’s dressing like some kind of stripper-smuggler, for Maker’s sake. All you need, Ben, is the right  _costume…”_

Very slowly, Finn lifts his free hand to Ben’s face, and his fingers hover above the new facial hair surrounding Ben’s mouth, and the muzzle below his chin.

“All  _this,”_ Finn murmurs, “Makes you look different  _already,_ Ben, do you  _know_ that?”

“Rey says that, too,” Ben whispers.

“And she’s right,” Finn says. “You don’t look so much like you used to look…”

Suddenly Ben realises that he’s hardly breathing now, because there’s something he wants to do, but he can’t seem to do it. Panic rises in Ben as his stomach churns from the paralysis, the same thing he felt earlier, when the words wouldn’t come; now the actions won’t come either. Once again he can’t turn thoughts into something concrete; he can’t make sense of his urges.

Ben wants to reach out and take Finn’s hand and press it firm to his face. He wants to feel Finn press his fingers hard to the soft, dark hairs of his jaw. And he wants Finn to run those same fingers straight up to his scar. To touch the scar. To cup it like his father had cupped his unscarred cheek, and make him feel like Ben again.

And when Finn does, of his own accord, hot tears prickle at Ben’s eyes, and through his clouded vision he leans in and kisses the smooth skin of Finn’s left cheek as he hears Rey sigh.


	27. Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 5. Part 5 of 6. Rey.

She’s standing with the caf in her hand and leaning sideways. Most of her weight is on her right leg, and it’s slightly bent because she hasn’t got the best view she could have, and she wants that; she wants the very best view she could possibly have of this.

As Ben draws himself back, his eyes still closed, Rey realises he went in for the left cheek, but it looks to Rey now as though there’s an unmistakable amount of lip going on here, too. Ben’s taking his time as he draws away from Finn, sitting alongside him on the sofa.

She can see Finn now because Ben’s pulled himself right back. His eyes still on Ben’s mouth, even though Ben has drawn away so much that Finn’s whole face is visible again to Rey; Ben’s broad bare shoulders are settling back the way they were before he first leant in to kiss him.

Rey’s aware of her open mouth, and that she’s holding her breath again. She sighs for the second time, but this time words escape, too.

“Oh... my... Maker…,” she breathes.

Finn turns to look at her but Ben doesn’t move; she can sense he knew already she was there.

“I need to wash,” he murmurs.

Rey watches carefully as he drops his head, stands, then opens his eyes and fixes his gaze to the floor. She can’t help but notice he’s semi-hard, which might explain his abrupt actions now, although she senses conflict in him, too.

Ben steps over the abandoned bedsheet. As he moves past Rey, he brushes his knuckles against hers and she presses back. For just a moment he pauses. Then Ben pads naked to the ‘fresher as Rey takes a very long sip from her cup of caf.

She waits until she can hear the falling water, then senses just to make sure he’s in. And once she is sure, Rey beelines for the sofa, still warm from where Ben sat. She draws her knees up, tucks her feet beneath herself and cradles her cup in her hands as she stares at Finn.

 _“Well?”_ she prompts.

Finn shakes his head slowly.

“What just happened?” he murmurs, turning to Rey. “How much of that did you see?”

 _“All_ of it,” she says quickly, taking another sip from her cup and wriggling herself in closer to him. “And even when I was standing in the kitchenette at the start, so he wouldn’t really notice, I could still  _hear_ you, even when he was whispering to you about his name and  _everything,_  Finn…”

“Do you still think he’s okay?”

Rey pauses, thinking and sensing.

“Yes,” she says, taking another sip of caf. “He just needs you, Finn, he needs to try to talk to you, to talk to someone who’s not me. He needs a  _man.”_

“You’re kind of a man, Rey.”

 _“What?”_ she says, frowning. “Take that back, Finn. Take it back  _right now.”_

“I don’t mean you  _are_ a man, Rey, I mean... you know.”

“No, Finn, I do not  _know,”_  she says.

“I meant,” he back-peddles, “You’re not exactly a girl, you know?”

“What the  _fuck,_ Finn? Of course I’m a girl, what do you want, _evidence?_ ‘Cause I can show you some evidence, it’s  _right here….”_

She shifts her caf to one hand and moves to wrench down the front of the body glove she’s wearing, but Finn holds both his hands up in a lightspeed-fast surrender, which is difficult, because he’s still holding on to his cup, too.

“I’m very aware you’re a  _female,_ Rey, what I’m saying is that you’re not a...”

“Then Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking because you’re making it  _worse.”_

He grins at her and shifts on the sofa, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on his thighs. His shoulders tilt and he holds his caf now between spread knees. Finn stares down into the dregs; it’s a gesture that reminds her of Ben.

Rey moves towards Finn, sensing as she transfers her caf to one hand. She places the other palm-down to his back, between the blades of his shoulders, and rubs him there in small circles.

“Are  _you_ okay Finn?” she asks, gently. “Are  _you_ okay, after all that?”

“Rose is pregnant,” he says, turning his head to look at Rey again.

“Oh,  _really?”_ she says.

“Yeah,” Finn says, beaming. “I haven’t seen her since the warship, but we holocommed when I got back from seeing you the other night, and she told me then.”

“After we met in the diner?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Finn, that’s  _amazing…”_

Finn shakes his head and stares down at the dregs of caf in his cup again.

“I can’t hardly believe it… I miss her…”

Rey smiles at him, still with her hand at his back; she misses Rose, too. 

“You’re not… upset at me, are you?” he asks, quietly. “After all that?”

He nods towards Ben, still in the ‘fresher, although Rey can no longer hear the sounds of falling water.

“No, Finn, of course I’m not upset at you,” she says, draining her caf, setting her cup down on the small coffee table, then curling in to Finn.

He shifts and puts his arm around her, and she wriggles in close to his warm body. Rey leans her head against his chest and feels him rest his head on hers.

“Ben can’t say what he wants to, and he can’t  _do_ what he wants to, either,” she murmurs. “He’s always been like that, he does things because he feels them and then he thinks them through after...”

“He wants to leave,” Finn murmurs. “He definitely wants to leave here, Rey, he seemed really sad...”

“I know,” she whispers. “Finn?”

Rey shifts next to him, tilting her head up to look into his eyes.

“Rey?” he murmurs, meeting her gaze.

“Will you help me cut his hair?”

Finn leans back quickly.

_“What?”_

“Will you help me cut his hair,  _please,_ Finn?”

“Oh, man, he’s gonna  _hate_ that...”

“Not if  _you_ help me do it,” she urges. “Finn, when you touched him…”

Rey sighs, feeling her stomach flip at the memory, and Finn raises his eyebrows.

“It was  _very_ fucking hot, Finn,” she whispers.

“Rey, he lets  _you_ touch him too, I was listening to you both before in there…”

He nods towards the bedroom.

“Okay, Finn? The friendship  _line_ _…,”_ Rey draws a line in the air with her finger, “Has been  _crossed_ _…”_

She walks her first two fingers over it, and raises her eyebrows.

Finn grins.

“You know I could hear you both fucking before in the bedroom, right?”

“Oh my stars!” she exclaims. “Finn, stop it!”

“I’m just saying…”

Rey covers her ears.

“I'm not listening…”

“Okay,” Finn mouths, wordlessly. “I’ve stopped.”

Slowly, Rey uncovers her ears.

“Don’t do that again,” Rey warns.

They both turn, then, as the bathroom door opens and Ben walks out naked. Two sets of eyes follow him to the bedroom.

Rey reaches for one of the doughnuts and bites down into the soft, sugar-coated treat as they listen to the muffled sounds of Ben dressing. She can feel her teeth slide through the dianoga cream center as she tears away a mouthful.

“Mm,” she mumbles, chewing slowly.

“Yeah, these are  _really_ good,” Finn says, reaching for another. “Your man can cook, Rey.”

As they sit together, eating Ben’s cream-filled doughnuts on the sofa, he re-emerges from the bedroom, his long hair still damp and dressed in his black V-neck shirt, the bootcut jeans and his old black leather boots.

“Man can definitely cook,” Finn reiterates, as he and Rey gaze appreciatively at Ben.

“So,” Ben mumbles awkwardly, watching them eat. “Now what?”


	28. Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 5. Part 6 of 6. Ben.

“We’re going to cut your hair.”

Rey stands, licks remnant doughnut sugar from her fingers and crosses the floor to Ben, collecting the black satin bedsheet on her way. When she reaches him she slings it over his shoulders, lifts her hands to his face and strokes the new muzzle of dark hair beneath his chin.

Ben swallows. Rey’s looking up to meet his gaze. Her eyes are gentle and kind and they remind him of Finn’s. Ben’s stomach clenches and her hand is there, over that spot, beneath his black shirt; right at the point where he feels the sickest. They exist just like that, paused, for several moments, until Ben starts to feel calmer and then Rey speaks again.

“You still want to leave  _and_ come back?” she asks, quietly.

“Yes,” Ben murmurs in answer.

“So, then, this is just like we talked about,” she reassures. “In bed earlier, remember that?”

“Yeah,” he says faintly, because that time will be hard to forget.

She shifts her hands and tucks his damp hair behind his ears. Ben’s stomach clenches again; he hates his hair like this.

“You don’t have to wear it this way, _”_ Rey says. “It’s just to help us cut it.”

“But it’ll be  _short_ like this…,” he frets.

“In a way," Finn murmurs from the sofa, "It’s nothing more than a mask, if that helps any.”

Ben hasn’t looked at Finn since he kissed him; his eyes are still fixed on Rey’s. But he senses Finn rise from the sofa, and Ben’s stomach flips as he tracks Finn’s careful movements across the floor of the lounge, towards where he and Rey stand.

“I’ll go look for scissors,” Rey whispers.

She turns and disappears into the kitchenette. Ben lifts his gaze and glares at Finn.

“What do you mean?” he questions, curling his lip. “It’s nothing like a fucking mask.”

“Don’t give me that look,” Finn snips. “You know what you need?”

“Enlighten me.”

“There’s a fetish store in the sex district in this quarter, you need the Wookiee costume they got there in the window,  _that’s_ a fucking mask.”

Ben snorts through his nose.

“Fuck you,” he says.

Finn raises his eyebrows.

“Let us cut your hair, then.”

“I  _am,”_ Ben hisses. “I’m standing here in a…”

“Don’t you hiss at me,” Finn murmurs. “You’re nervous, right?”

Ben sucks at his lower lip as Finn takes a step towards him.

“Tell me what you meant,” Ben repeats.

“You know perfectly well what I meant,” Finn says, as Ben fidgets with the folds of the bedsheet. “You need a  _disguise._ You know you can’t go out like that, you still look way too much like the holos... Why are you fidgeting?”

“Because I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“Why?”

“I tried to tell you before,” Ben huffs. “Because I’m standing here in a fucking cum-covered bedsheet…”

“You’re not that,” Finn says, as he takes another step towards Ben. “You’re not a fucking idiot just because you need a haircut. You’re nervous about it, that’s all.”

Ben watches Finn extend two hands very slowly to his shoulders, pausing before he makes contact.

“I’m just going to adjust this,” Finn says, quietly. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Ben mutters.

Finn closes his hands around the rumpled sheet and straightens it around Ben, sliding both hands down the V-shape it makes in the front, and tucking one smooth edge beneath the other, so the folds of satin fabric close just beneath Ben’s chin.

“This way,” Finn explains, gently, “You won’t get hair down your clothes. Hold it closed.”

From beneath the bedsheet, Ben grips the place Finn holds and for a moment his fingers close over Finn’s. Ben feels him flinch, and Ben’s stomach jolts, but neither man moves his fingers away. Instead they both pause for several moments until Finn speaks again.

“Have you got a good handle on that?” Finn whispers.

“Yes,” Ben breathes.

Finn lets go and takes one step back. Ben releases a breath he’s been holding, and he thinks he hears Finn do the same as Rey returns with the scissors. She lifts her hands and opens the blades.

“Don’t take too much off,” Ben warns.

Rey senses.

 _Do you want Finn to do this?_ she thinks through the bond so that Finn won’t hear.

 _Yes,_ Ben thinks back.

Rey closes the blades, spins the metal scissors in her hand and grips them by the tips of their reunified ends. She holds them out to Finn as Ben’s eyes flick anxiously between the two of them.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks Finn, as he takes the scissors by their handles.

“Once or twice,” Finn answers.

“Really?”

“You need to hold still, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And relax,” Finn adds. “You need to raise your chin and try to stand square… natural, you know?”

Ben takes a deep breath and adjusts his feet, spreading his heels just shy of shoulder-width apart. He rolls his shoulders and neck, and then settles his upper body, imagining a line from the top of his head running down through his spine, and imagining it’s perfectly vertical. Ben tips his jaw slightly, looking down - nervous again - as Finn holds the scissors and re-opens the blades.

“Just look straight ahead,” Finn says, calmly. “Or, you could shut your eyes, if you wanted…”

Ben levels his jaw and closes his eyes.

“Okay,” Finn sighs. “Here we go.”

There’s this one time Ben remembers well, which has nothing to do with scissors, but for some reason now he’s thinking about it as he listens to the soft snipping sounds of the blades Finn works across the damp ends of his hair.

It was a long time ago on the Falcon, when he used to still tolerate travelling with his father and Chewie, enjoy it, even. Sometimes they’d be gone from home for days at a time and, at nighttime, the Wookiee would sometimes tell him a story about a human boy who lived on Kashyyyk’s orange moon.

Ben knows now that the story was all just bullshit, that it wasn’t a legend, like the one about the Great Tree. But at the time, Ben believed in every single word of it: the story about the human boy on the orange moon who Chewie used to say was a Force-user, and he always used to stop the story just before he got to the part about the boy’s name.

“Ben?”

Because the boy in the story was meant to be him, it was obvious. It was meant to be a story to help Ben feel better about standing out, to somehow help him feel proud of what he was born, to acknowledge his difference. Because by then it was very clear that Ben was very different.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“No,” Ben murmurs. “I was somewhere else.”

The trouble was, and Ben had always thought so, that the boy in the story wasn’t actually different at all. In Ben’s mind, the boy was just like everyone else on the moon and yet he still stood out, but it wasn’t because of who he was born.

“I said,” Finn says, smiling, “You look good.”

No matter how many times Chewie told him the story, Ben thought its moral was false; the boy stood out because he wanted to. The boy stood out because of who he chose to wake up as, and that’s why he fit in. Everyone else in the story was doing that, too. No one there was fitting in as just who they were born, that was too simple, just like every other fucking moral he’d ever been taught.

“Like a Rebel,” Rey adds, as she flicks her fingers through his freshly-cut hair, and it feels good. Lighter.

In Ben’s mind, the orange moon was a place full of ruses, full of people standing out, and that's why they all fit in. And tomorrow, when Ben wakes up, a smuggler, a bounty hunter and a Rebel will step out together, into another place full of masks.


	29. The Good Kind Of Tickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 1 of 8. Rey.

There’s a very slow sound of a speeder and there's a very slow something pressing against her foot, running its way beneath the ball of her left foot. Stroking at it gently, and every so often lifting it up and then setting it down and Rey lets it happen. It feels nice. A slow arousal at the pad of her left foot.

With every stroke, she can feel a concentrated amount of pressure as the tip of Ben’s clipped toenail runs along it, too. But that also feels nice; that contrast between the soft warmth of the silky part of the top of his foot, and the hard point of his toenail. It almost tickles as it runs its way softly up and then down the sole of her foot. And not the bad kind, either. The good kind of tickle. The arousing kind.

Ben’s hand is about her hip. As Rey lies on her right side, on freshly laundered black satin sheets in bed, she can feel him stroking at her left flank. The tips of his fingers trail along, just above the crease of her left thigh.

Every time they run their course, first up the concave form of her lower belly’s left hand side, then down it, small thrills travel from his point of contact to a place lower down. They gather and warm between her thighs.

Eventually, as Rey lies drifting between sleeping and waking, she starts to feel so warm there that she shifts her hips. Just once. The first curve of a circle, or maybe the beginning of a figure eight, she’s not quite sure yet. Her mind is still drifting.

But when she moves, she can definitely feel Ben behind her, pressing back with something much harder than the soft touch of his fingertips - those are still at her flank, trailing their way along her - or the gentle massage he continues to give beneath her foot with the silky top of his own.

He nuzzles at the skin just behind her ear and the reassuring warmth of his upper body is pressed to the expanse of her back. She can feel the soft muzzle of hairs around his mouth, brushing against her skin. The good kind of tickle. And while he does that, he shifts the hand at her flank, and with it makes a soft cup for her hip

Rey stretches, undulates her spine and extends her neck. Her right cheek shifts on the laundered, black satin pillow, and the tip of her nose presses down into its surface. She pushes back, and slowly wriggles herself against the hard part of Ben as he presses that kind of warmth to her lower back.

Ben shifts and pulls her to him. As she curves and wriggles again, Rey finds he’s working that kind of warmth - the hard kind - away from her lower back and to a place much more comfortable. Lowering the hard kind of warmth of himself until it becomes just warmth, resting between the yielding cheeks of her arse.

Rey curves again, presses out and works herself closer, willing Ben closer, allowing and giving him access to the curves at the back of her. She smiles into the laundered pillow as his big body begins to take her over.

Ben pulls her gently to where that body wants her to go, and to be. The soft cup he made for her hip is shifting around from there to the curve of her arse. That hand slides between her legs from the back, his fingers gently stroking at her outer folds as she feels his lips against the back of her neck. She sighs into the laundered pillow, while the smile she’s already giving it broadens.

His lips are playing with her earlobe, and Ben is sliding his fingertips just inside her entrance. Rey hears a very soft sigh escape her own mouth, and then he closes his around her lobe and starts to stroke, just inside her folds with his fingers.

 _Ben,_ she thinks through the bond.

“Rey,” he whispers back, very softly in her ear.

He withdraws his fingers and she feels the warm length of him move between her legs, with meaning. Rey pushes back and the head of his cock pleads with her folds. The hard point.

Rey rolls forward just enough to open herself a little more and then Ben slides his length inside her; hot, thicc and long, and filling her. He holds himself there as his mouth opens against the skin just beneath her ear.

She hears the sound of her own breath escape her mouth, as Ben’s breath heats her skin. Rey’s nipples harden - she can feel that happen too - and she has a mind to bring her own hand to one of them but she doesn’t do that yet. Instead she reaches that hand, her left one, behind herself and touches it to the back of Ben’s left thigh, as he starts to move inside her.

Rey listens to the slow sound of speeders in the background and soft snores from Finn on the sofa in the lounge room as Ben fucks her slowly from behind, and nighttime descends outside. She pants into the laundered pillow, as Ben’s body slowly builds the warmth it began inside her earlier; the deep thrum between her legs growing steadily, as he slides inside her slowly.

She does bring her hand to her breast then, to tweak at herself, as his left hand caresses her left arse cheek, sometimes stroking at it and sometimes gently pulling at the placid muscle, opening her further. Sometimes gripping at her, especially if he pushes himself especially deep inside her, which he does do more than sometimes. And always all the way to his hilt.

Those times make her turn further into the laundered pillow and roll forwards, pushing herself out again, encouraging him to move further over her. Wanting him to do that. Imagining Ben mounting her from behind as she presses her face right down into the pillow, but he’s still too sleepy for that and so is she.

Gentle morning sex with Ben is waking Rey; the good kind of tickle. She can feel her climax building, and he’s whispering things into her ear as she feels him quicken. Is he verging, too? Or is he just more awake?

 _Make me come soon,_ she thinks sleepily, and in response his hand moves to hers, closes its way over the one she has at her breast, and she lifts her fingers and lets his replace them.

The heavy breathing she’s begun becomes a pant, evolving to the soft moan of Ben’s name as he tweaks at her nipple just right, and times the thrust of his cock at just the right angle.

Rey pulses once, and then the muscles at the entrance to her cunt react as Ben fucks her long and slow through climax. She pushes back and lets him in as deep as he can reach, then she turns her head and Ben’s mouth finds hers.

He opens around her lips, his tongue inside her now as she feels his hips push hard at her, urgent and quick and his mouth slips away. Ben grunts and huffs and she feels his warmth spreading inside her, as his thrusts become irregular and impulsive, and lose the rhythm he’d so carefully started and maintained as she came. Then he slows right down, and she’s slowed too.

“I love you,” he breathes in her ear.

And then he says it again. Over and over into her ear, and he holds her so close to him she thinks she might disappear inside his chest, but she wouldn’t mind. It would be a good kind of way to go.

“I love you, Rey,” Ben breathes, again.

 _I love you, Ben,_ she thinks back.

And as they lie together in the morning, which is actually the evening, they share thoughts about the ‘fresher and getting dressed.


	30. Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 2 of 8. Ben.

"I'll go and start the water,” Rey whispers, turning her head and kissing Ben’s cheek. “Finn’s awake, go talk to him for a bit, then come.”

_“Wait.”_

Ben holds her tight against him while the darkness deepens outside the window above them, and the orange hues of the nightlights beyond it strengthen as the Smuggler’s Moon continues to turn away from its sun.

He inhales through his nose then sighs through his mouth, because the words he wants to say aren’t there again, and what he’d really rather be thinking about right now anyway is actually nothing at all; just basking in the afterglow of his orgasm would be nice, but she’s leading him down a path.

“Ben?” she prompts.

A really awkward path, towards a really fucking awkward conversation about whatever the fuck happened on the sofa with Finn last night; he’s been trying to forget it, but it just won’t leave. It niggles, like something that tickles.

“You know, you can’t just avoid him,” Rey whispers again, as Ben feels her sensing for what’s in his head.

“I’m  _not…”_

“You  _are,”_ she says, and Ben knows she’s right. “At the very least, you need to go out there and just say  _hello..._ ”

“Come _with_ me,” he pleads.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Ben feels her work her fingers around his wrists. Gently she prises his forearms from around her middle; Rey works her way out of bed, and pulls him up with her. Then she reaches for the door handle.

 _“Clothes,_ Rey, for  _fuck’s_ sake,” Ben hisses, grabbing for her wrist, but she shoos his hand away.

“There’s no need to hide from Finn, Ben,” she says, as he reaches for his rumpled jeans, which are still on the floor where he left them. “He’s already seen you naked now, anyway...”

Ben’s stomach flips.

“Oh, so once someone’s seen you naked  _one time,_ Rey, there’s no need to wear clothes around them  _ever again?”_ he says, incredulous.

“Well, quite frankly,  _yes,”_ she says. “Happens all the time, and if you’d ever actually lived with people who weren’t entirely terrified of you before now, Ben - before  _me_ \- you  _might_ understand what _…”_

“Hang on, living with  _you,_ Rey - who I  _fuck_ \- is completely different to living with random strangers that I don’t even know from some...”

“Ben, you  _kissed_ Finn, he is  _not_ some random stranger to you anymore, and besides…”

“I didn’t _intend_ to do that, okay?” Ben hisses. “And when in the fuck has he ever seen  _you_ naked, anyway? That is  _definitely_ news to me...”

“But you  _did_ kiss him, Ben, and I’ll have you know that  _everyone_ saw  _everyone_ else naked on Kashyyyk, it  _just fucking happened…”_

“What the  _fuck?”_ he frowns. “He'd seen you naked  _before_  last night, are you _kidding_  me?"

“Not  _naked,”_ she says.  _“Nude.”_

“Holy fucking shit, Rey, _what?”_

“Finn has seen me  _nude,”_ she says. "Many times."

Ben gapes, and Rey rolls her eyes.

“There’s a  _difference_ Ben,” she says with certainty, “Between being  _naked_ and being  _nude,_ close your mouth.”

“Holy shit...,”he repeats, still gaping.

This conversation has arrived them at either a new low, or a new level of intimacy; he’s having a lot of trouble right now distinguishing between the two.

“Well, you can’t just leave it there, for fuck’s sake,” Ben hisses again.  _“What’s the difference?”_

“The  _difference,”_ she says, “Is  _self-awareness,_ Ben, and whether or not you  _care._ I don’t care one way or the other if Finn sees me naked, which makes me  _nude_ when I’m around him.”

Ben feels his stomach clench.

 _Then I was definitely naked,_ he thinks through the bond, unable to say it aloud.

“Well that, Ben, is very fucking plainly obvious.”

Rey steps towards him and puts her hands to his bare belly. Her fingertips traverse his stitches, which itch at him faintly, and then Ben feels her hovering above the spot inside him that he can sense she’s noticed; the spot that always churns and clenches, and which has called her over, which always does. She’s so good at doing this; does he ever do this sort of thing for her? Reassure her? He starts to feel guilty about it, because he doesn’t. He knows it.

“Ben, don’t feel that,” she murmurs. “And, if you really don’t want to talk to Finn now, just put pants on and we’ll walk to the 'fresher together and wash, it’s okay…”

“I  _want_ to, though,” he murmurs.

Their eyes meet.

“You  _want_ to?”

“Yes.”

“You  _do_ want to talk to Finn now?”

“Yes.”

Rey turns and bends and opens the small drawer in the wardrobe behind them, rummaging for a moment in its depths, and then she stands and passes Ben a pair of trunks.

“Put them on,” she murmurs. “And go out there, Ben.”

He could do that, he supposes; wear these, rather than just wear nothing or the jeans, which his eyes still linger on. He could pull on just these trunks - a happy medium - and go out there and say  _hello_ and then walk straight to the bathroom. Then he and Rey could wash and dress. And then they could all go out and shop, and do whatever the fuck else she wants to do tonight.

“Are  _you_ going to saying  _hello_ to him?” Ben asks.

“Yeah,” she replies. “I'm not  _rude._  If you want, Ben, just copy what I do, okay?”

He sighs.

“You go first, then,” he says.

“Okay.”

Rey opens the bedroom door and walks out. Ben doesn’t hear her converse with Finn, and a few moments later the ‘fresher starts. He frowns, because he can still sense that Finn is not asleep.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, still holding the trunks in his hand.  _Do it just like her, then..._

Ben walks out of the bedroom nude, his mind on the ‘fresher. He side-eyes the sofa, just to make sure; Finn’s eyes are closed, but Ben can still sense he's not asleep. That makes Ben pause for a moment at the threshold of the bedroom. How thin are the walls here? Could Finn hear from the sofa the conversation he and Rey just had in the bedroom?

He wonders about this as he starts to move away from the doorway, his eyes still on Finn’s face. He has a mind to take his eyes off him, lying beneath the albino surepp blanket in his father’s old white V-neck shirt and just briefs. Ben can tell he's just in briefs, because his bare calves and ankles are visible from beneath the lower edges of the blanket. It's not a long blanket but it is soft and warm. And as Ben thinks about that, how that blanket feels on his own bare skin - very soft and very warm - Finn’s eyes open.

Ben’s heart almost stops, but he turns his head away and keeps walking until eventually he disappears into the bathroom, feeling very naked again. Ben itches at the stitches as he closes the door on Finn and the sofa. The last view he has is of Finn's hurt expression, and Ben starts to feel guilty again.


	31. Voyeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 3 of 8. Rey.

Rey glares at Ben as he steps into the ‘fresher.

“What?” he says.

“Oh, don’t you act like you don’t know what you just did,” she chides, stepping out and marching to the sonic, even though she’s not done washing. “I’m not going to say I’m furious, Ben, I’m just going to stand here and think it.”

As the sonic starts she turns to glare at him again.

“How could you hurt his feelings like that?” she asks.

“Rey…”

When the sonic cycle ends, she wrenches open the dryer door and fumbles for a pair of briefs. She whips them on, then wriggles into a bra as she leaves the bathroom in nothing less than that and a storm.

“If you won’t listen to what I have to say, will you at least please close the fucking door?” Ben appeals, still naked in the ‘fresher.

 _No,_  she thinks back through the bond as she searches for Finn.

He’s fully dressed now in the bounty hunter outfit, fiddling with the gauntlets, which he hasn’t yet pulled on. She reaches out and hold his hands, an effort to somehow make up for the acute hurt she can still sense in him.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, Rey.”

“It’s not fine, Finn, he’s...”

Rey stops, sensing Ben leaving the bathroom. They both turn to watch him disappear into the bedroom, sans everything but the black trunks.

“He’s got a lot going on, Rey, I mean you know that...”

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you please spend some time with him somewhere?”

Finn blinks at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll walk with you both to the Meltdown,” she pleads. “Then, would you just sit with him there, and talk to him? Please?”

Finn exhales a long breath through his mouth.

“You know it’s one thing to be here,” he starts, “But it’s a whole other thing to be out.”

“You don’t have to,” she breathes, then she shakes her head quickly. “Finn, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Rey, I  _want_ to, I want to be his… friend,” he murmurs. “But what if something  _happens?”_

“It would be  _okay,_ Finn, as long as  _you_ were okay,” she says.

Rey can feel tears prickle at her eyes and she blinks them back.

“To be honest,” she adds in a whisper. “I don’t know  _what_ would happen then, Finn, I just know I can’t help him with  _this…”_

“You really want this?” Finn asks.

“Yes, Finn,  _please...”_

“Okay,” he says.

Rey kisses his cheek, then she dashes for the bedroom. Ben’s pulling down his black V-neck and he’s already wearing jeans.

“You still mad at me?” he murmurs, as she begins to wriggle into the body glove she’s just snatched up off the floor.

Something in the pit of her stomach tightens and she remembers Finn’s words. Guilt begins to gnaw at her insides.

“Sorry,” she whispers to Ben, without looking at him.

“I didn’t mean to ignore him, Rey,” he mutters. “I just seem to be jamming up a lot right now…”

“I know,” she whispers again, still staring at the floor of the bedroom. “I over-reacted.”

“You didn’t, you were just… I don’t know... None of this feels easy, Rey...”

She lifts her eyes to meet his.

“You know, Finn’s right,” she says quietly, gazing from his new cut to the muzzle of hair around his mouth, and marveling at the way it makes his eyes seem larger somehow, and lighter, almost brown. “You do look good.”

He walks to her and tilts his face to kiss her on the mouth, then he reaches into the wardrobe and removes his father's old leather jacket. She turns. Ben helps her shrug it on.

“Stop being so nice to me,” she whispers, turning around. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, “You do.”

She can feel the tears at her eyes again.

“I’m going to walk with you and Finn to the Meltdown, and then I’m going to leave you both there for awhile,” she says.

“Are you, now?”

“Yes.”

“And this will make you happy?”

“It’s not about me, Ben.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says frowning.

Ben tries to stifle a smile.

“Ben,  _what?”_

“Are you really okay?”

“What do you mean?” she says, the frown deepening. “Of  _course_ I'm okay…”

She glimpses just the faintest hint of a raised eyebrow from Ben and then he tilts his face to pull on his boots, obscuring the view. She turns and leaves the bedroom, heading for her own old woolen ones, still at the front door where she left them.

“You got a blaster?” she hears Ben ask Finn.

Rey’s stomach flips and she pauses at the door with her back to the men in the lounge.

“Yeah,” she hears Finn answer.

Rey reaches down for her boots and pulls them on slowly, listening, but Ben remains silent. She can hear him rummaging through the storage drawer beneath the sofa, sensing he’s collecting their sabers.

“You got a longer shirt or something, a jacket?” she hears Finn ask Ben, after several moments of silence pass, once the rummaging sounds have ceased.

Slowly, Rey turns to face them as she straps on her small leather bag and slings an empty haversack across her shoulder; maybe she could shop while they talked.

“Oh, yeah,” Ben says to Finn. “I didn’t really think of that...”

Rey watches him frown as he pulls at the length of his black V-neck, which isn’t exactly short but which doesn’t cover the length of the saber hilt he’s just clipped to his hip.

“You just need a jacket or something, that’s all,” Finn says. “Wait, come back in here…”

Rey’s jaw drops as Ben follows Finn into the bedroom. She gives them a moment, then creeps after them.

There’s a spot, just near the edge of the sofa, from where she can see them reflected in the mirrored wardrobe doors, and she watches now from there - their inverted appearances - as Finn begins to hold up more of Han’s old clothes against Ben.

“They’re all too short,” she hears Ben say.

“No, you’re just big, that’s all,” Finn says. “What else you got? You got a cape?”

“I can’t wear that anymore, it’s too recognisable.”

“A white shirt then, they’re long, they’ll cover it.”

“They’re still not really long enough,” Ben points out.

“Not the one you gave me last night,” Finn says, and Rey watches him slide the door along its runners, opening another section of wardrobe, obscuring her view again.

“You really think?” she hears Ben ask. “You think one of those would be long enough?”

“These shirts,” Finn explains, “Are  _really_ long, they’ll cover you. Look I’ll show you, take that.”

 _Fuck,_ Rey thinks, shifting to the sofa because her mirrored view is gone, but still leaning in, trying to glimpse them without being seen.

“I think these are still gonna be too small,” she hears Ben mumble.

“You’re not  _that_ big, Ben.”

“Hey…”

“I didn’t mean it like… Oh, yeah okay, you are really quite big actually, wait… Okay, try this...”

There’s a muffling sound and then she hears Ben’s voice again, still with no view on either him or Finn.

“Is that better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Does that feel better?”

“Yeah. That feels good.”

“Pull it.”

“What? she hears Ben ask. Like, what do you mean? Pull it how?” 

“Pull it like _this,"_  Finn says, slowly.

“Like...  _that?”_

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Pull it just like  _that…”_

Rey nearly faints.

“Does it look good?” she hears Ben murmur.

“Yeah, that looks good. Does it  _feel_ good?”

“Feels _really_ good.”

“It definitely _looks_ really good, Ben.”

“You really think so?”

“Oh, yeah…”

Rey can’t stand it any longer. She moves off the sofa, her eyes locked on the entrance to the bedroom, and as she does she knocks a half-drunk bottle of ale they still haven't cleared from two nights ago, and it lands on its side with a clink and a rattle, and rancid beer spills across the floor.

“Oh,  _fuck,”_ Rey cusses, kneeling down to collect the turncoat bottle as Ben and Finn emerge from the bedroom, Ben in a long stucco-coloured V-neck shirt that falls to his mid-thighs, and covers the full hilt of his lightsaber.

“Please can we just get the fuck out of here?” Rey huffs, horny and bothered. “I really need some air.”


	32. The Scenario

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 4 of 8. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time this one was written, I had some more story left over from the previous chapter but it didn't really fit in there, so I posted this as a sort of an 'extra' to that on the same day i posted #31. It's on the shorter side, but I liked this so much at the time just as is, so didn't extend it just for the sake of it. I hope you enjoy it too. Just a little extra drabble.

Ben takes his first lungful of fresh air in six nights.  _Fresh_ being the operative word because the breathing on Nar Shaddaa is not clean. The scent of it is at least familiar though, like stale pepper pretzels and struck matches and it’s so thick with smog he can almost feel it as he moves his body through. And he can taste the grime. It lands and accrues at the back of his throat each time he breathes through his mouth, so he closes it.

“You know,” he says to Finn, as the three of them walk the first few blocks down the street from the apartment, “You’re lucky in that bucket. I forgot how appalling the air is out here.”

 _Shut it, Ben,_ Rey thinks through the bond, watching her nudge Finn gently with her elbow.  _You can’t talk to us, you’re supposed to be a prisoner._

 _Yeah, I love you, too,_ he huffs, as he walks cuffed behind Finn, who leads him along in the collar.

The scenario goes like this. Ben is a Rebel spy who’s wanted by some nameless crime syndicate they haven’t fully fleshed out yet. Finn is a bounty hunter who’s been hired to lure and apprehend Ben, and Rey is a smuggler, who's has been brought in to assist them both off-world. They don’t yet have names, or a destination, but that’s the gist of it so far. It’s a pretty fucking thinly-veiled jig, in Ben’s opinion, but he’s agreed to it because it means he can go outside.

Rey thinks if it gets really serious, and some nerfherder does ask them for their names, lightsabers really aren’t that big a deal, but Ben has a different view. Mind-tricking whoever is dumb enough to speak to them is by far the more preferable option, and just plain easier, but if Rey really does want to use the sabers, Ben doubts he’ll object. It’s been nearly a week since he last observed the happy pleasure of her wielding a weapon, and in the heat of the moment he doubts he’ll do anything but happily watch her julienne them alive, if it really does come down to all that.

“How far is it?” Finn murmurs, through his helmet’s voice modulator.

“Four blocks,” Ben murmurs back.

Rey turns and shoots him a look.

“Well, come on,” he levels at her. “This is ridiculous, Rey, there’s _no one around…”_

The streets are as empty as Ben remembers them from the handful of times he used to walk here at night, before he defected, when Rey and Finn were both still with the Rebellion on Kashyyyk.

“It’s the  _principle_ of the thing, Ben,” she hisses over her shoulder. “And if you call me  _Rey_ one more time, I swear to the Maker…”

“I’m not even talking to you, I’m talking to Finn,” he hisses back. “You still want me to do that, right?”

“Stop it,” she mutters.

Ben smiles. Rey turns her head again and points at him.

 _“Stop_ smiling, Ben, you are a  _prisoner.”_

“Prisoners can’t smile?” he laughs. “What if I’m happy about it?”

Finn snorts through his helmet.

 _“Finn,”_ she utters, nudging him hard with her elbow.

“What, it was funny…”

“Seriously,” she huffs, “I am counting down the blocks until I get to leave you two in the diner for awhile, I have just about had enough of  _this…”_

“So what do you eat, anyway?” Ben asks Finn. “You like dianoga pie?”

Ben smiles again as he watches Rey shake her head in frustration.

“I hear they make really good fern potato fries with muja sauce at the Meltdown,” Finn says, over his shoulder.

“Holy shit,” Ben murmurs, and as he stares at the back of Finn’s head.

From the corner of his eye, Ben watches Rey whip her head in Finn’s direction.

“You actually _like_ fries with muja sauce?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, they’re great.”

“No  _way…_ Rey  _hates_ muja sauce…”

 _“What?”_  Finn says, turning to her. “You don’t, do you?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Finn, it's  _fruit_  on  _fries_ , who eats that? Except…,” she adds, pointing again at Ben,  _“Him,_ for some reason, and now you as well, Finn. I’m surrounded by…”

“We’re here,” Ben says, happily.

He smiles up at the familiarly seedy-looking building. The smells of rich food make him salivate, and his stomach flips with excitement. And something else happens but he pushes that down; maybe he will save that for Finn.

“Rey?” Ben hears him say.

Finn's placed his gloved hands gently on Rey’s upper arms. He's looking deep into her eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, honey, leave now, okay?” Finn says, and not unkindly. “We’re gonna be just fine.”


	33. Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 5 of 8. Rey.

_He seems happy,_ Rey thinks, smiling as Ben and Finn disappear together inside the warm glow of the diner’s interior.

Outside the Meltdown Cafe, beneath the comfort of Han’s old leather jacket, Rey hunches her shoulders, lifts the narrow collar and buries her hands in the pockets.

She has a mind to resume the westward walk towards the amenities district. She definitely needs to walk right now, to shop for more herbs to chew, groceries, and she’s definitely hungry; Rey’s stomach growls and the thick air tempts her with saporous smells from the diner.

But she’s having trouble leaving. The thought of food and eating reminds her of Ben. It’s strange not to be with him. She doesn’t understand that feeling. It’s not like he’s gone for good. For the past week they’ve spent only a handful of hours apart; now here are surely only two or so more, and for fuck’s sake  _she's_ the one who's set this up.

 _But he’s with someone else,_ Rey thinks, shifting her booted feet uncomfortably on the wet concrete.  _It’s not the same as him being gone, and just alone._

Ben’s always been alone. He’s always been sad about it. And for as long as she’s known him he’s seemed to want her to fix that. Now, he’s neither alone nor sad, and nor does he seem to want her to help. He wants someone else to help. He wants  _Finn_ to help.

Rey frowns down at her scuffed woolen boots feeling useless, and something else she hasn’t felt in a long time, but which has never really left her, just become a kind of buried thing. Loneliness. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she blinks them away. She lifts one foot up, pointing the toe of it along a crack in the concrete and tracing with that along the line of its fault.

A cramp begins in her foot. She arches it, rolling from heel to ball, then pushing up, so her weight is on her toes. She stretches out her spasming instep, still staring up at the night sky - or at least at the place where the night sky should be if she could see it, through the particles of haze and smog in the air on the moon - as she waits for the pain in her foot to pass. Rey misses the sky. She misses it as much as she misses Ben.

She sits down in the gutter, perched at the edge of the grease-stained concrete, and something catches her eye. She drops her gaze from the sky. A grey cat with green eyes and one ear glares up from a pool in the gutter, lapping at the fetid water, which is moving despite its stagnant colour and smell. Rey frowns at it.

“Don’t drink that,” she scolds. “Don’t you know what’s good for you?”

The cat adjusts its front paws, then shifts its gaze to the concrete, just beyond the pool, and continues to drink. Rey huffs at it. She shifts on the cold concrete, too, drawing her knees in closer to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins, hugging herself tight. Her stomach growls again.

Maybe she could go buy Bantha jerky. She knows of a whole block smattered with vendors that sell it, further down and southward near the medstore. Rey stands, brushes the dirt from her gloved arse, and the back of her thighs, and begins the trek southward to the corner, shoving her hands deep in her pockets as she goes.

As she walks she can feel the hilt of her saber nestled at her back, as well as the blaster. The blaster is still her weapon of choice should anyone confront her and should she need to fight. She misses that, too. She misses fighting.

 _Ben used to fight,_ Rey thinks.

When he was still on the warship and he felt anxious, or horny and bothered, Ben used to fight. She’d seen it in his head, he’d told her about it and once he’d even shown her.

 _Form VI,_ she remembers.

Maybe that’s what she needs now. Could she do that here? Is there a studio or a fight club? A  _fetish_ club maybe? She couldn’t whip out a saber on the streets of the Smuggler’s Moon, but maybe she could do it indoors...

She hasn’t ever been to the sex district, where she senses stuff like that’s most likely to be; only Ben has been there; to get all the clothes and costumes he bought her, and then all the other kinky things he kept stashed in the storage drawer beneath the sofa. The blindfold, and the collar, and the leash.

Her stomach both flips and clenches. What are he and Finn doing  _now?_

The leash had been Rey’s idea. Initially, Ben and Finn thought a blaster in the ribs from behind would suffice, but they’d swayed with perhaps not an unsurprising amount of ease when she suggested it, and in the end neither man put up much of a fight in response.

Do they like the idea now as much as she does? Ben collared and softly handled on the end of a supple leash led by Finn? Her stomach does the flip-clench thing again.

 _I need a fucking distraction,_ Rey thinks, spotting movement at a vendor nearby.

She spies the hallmark amber strips she knows are Bantha jerky, slung like buntings above a gnarly-looking cart. They're assembled around a mangled droid, who's vending from behind the cart.

“Four strips,” she says when she gets there, setting down credits as the rusty unit yanks them down from overhead, and slaps the dried meat on the grimy steel.

Rey slides the leather off the surface, then trips over the cat, who's now circling around her feet. She almost drops the lot to the dirty bitumen.

 _“No,”_ she says firmly, recovering her footing and re-gripping the jerky. “Go eat rats, this moon’s full of them. I paid  _credits_ for this, it’s  _mine.”_

Rey crosses the street, tearing at the treat with her teeth and wondering whether or not to go home now, or stay out and shop and wait for Ben and Finn.

She slows the pace of her walk then stops. The faintly sweet meat is delicious on her tongue, and satisfying between her molars as she chews at it slowly, savoring the brawny texture. As she rolls her eyes in delight she feels a needy thump at her right ankle, and she snorts as she senses the little grey cat again.

“Oh  _fine,”_ she sighs, softening now that her belly is filling with food.

Rey begins to move again as she tears more small ribbons of meat from the jerky strips and drops them to the concrete for the cat, who begins to tag along, following the trail of food she leaves it.

“You know, I would never put  _you_ on a leash, you kind of look like you’ve been through enough already,” she murmurs at it, as they both chew jerky. “If you lived with me, you could come and go whenever you pleased. I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

They meander together and Rey hardly notices when she passes the diner, in which Ben and Finn are still snugged somewhere inside.

But as she walks with the cat with one ear, and gnaws at the jerky, she remembers she didn’t come here to perve on Ben and Finn, doing whatever they are in there. Rey came out here for some air.

“Air,” she says to the cat, throwing down another ribbon of jerky. “I think I might call you  _Air._  I hope you wouldn't mind if I did that."


	34. Set-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 6 of 8. Ben.

Ben watches closely as Finn slides the soft gauntlets from his hands and throws them down lightly on the table of the most secluded booth in the diner, the one in the furthest corner, where they’ve both sat before but never together.

“So,” Finn starts quietly, “Do you want me to release you now, or do you wanna use the Force to do that?”

Ben’s stomach flips as he looks across the table at Finn. His hands are still cuffed and Finn is now toying with the braided end of the soft leather leash in his lap.

“I mean, I know that’s not how the Force works and everything, but…”

“You can do it if you want,” Ben allows, as something inside him starts to buzz. “I don’t mind. No one in here is actually buying this fucking prisoner scenario anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Finn grins. “Rey definitely wasn’t.”

“It was a set-up,” Ben exhales, with a lopsided smile.

“So, what are you saying?” Finn adds. “That this is exactly what it looks like?”

Ben raises an eyebrow and Finn snorts as Ben shifts his knee. It knocks against Finn’s.

“Sorry,” he mutters, twitching the knee away.

“It’s okay,” Finn mutters back.

Finn leans forwards a little and his hand finds the same knee, the one Ben just twitched away. It rests there as Finn’s eyes fix on Ben’s.

“Give me your hands,” Finn casually suggests.

Ben shifts his cuffed wrists towards Finn and the edge of his right hand finds the warmth of Finn’s smallest finger. For a moment Finn rests the finger against Ben’s. He stays still but Finn hesitates.

“It’s okay,” Ben says gently, sensing and beginning to pull his frame back and return his broad shoulders to the padded seat behind himself. “You don’t have to, I got it…”

“Wait,” Finn whispers.

Slyly his finger curls around Ben’s and very slowly it shifts against his skin. Tremors begin and extend from the place where Finn rubs at his smallest finger, and Ben finds himself holding breath.

“Why you wanna do this?” he exhales.

“Why don’t you?” Finn exhales back. “Here, take it.”

“What?” Ben reels.

Is he hearing this right?

“Take the end of the leash,” Finn urges, moving his right hand beneath Ben’s and pressing the lissome black cord into Ben’s receptive palm.

It snugs beneath the curled fingers of Ben’s hand, which rests submissively in the cuffs, palm-down on his jeaned thigh.

“Sorry,” Ben mumbles, his mouth opening in a very faint expression of shock. "I was somewhere else for a minute there…”

Now that Ben has the leash, Finn's fingers are free to release the handcuffs and they fall slack to Ben’s leg. He grasps for the bulky restraints as they slide off the densely woven black fabric of his jeans, and with a flick of his wrist he collects the circlet of one band, hooking a forefinger through it and settling it down on the padded seat beside himself in the booth.

“You know,” he says softly, “That _is_ actually how the Force works, Finn.”

“How?”

“Well, you _can_ manipulate things through the Force, if you want to.”

Finn opens his mouth, then closes it quickly.

“You were gonna say _Han,”_ Ben murmurs. “Weren’t you. Something about him?”

“No.”

“Yes, you were.”

Finn blinks.

“It’s okay,” Ben murmurs again. “You can ask me about him if you want, I don’t mind. You can talk about him. If you want.”

He swallows.

“You know, that must be really weird,” Finn says, looking at him.

Ben senses.

“You mean, doing this?” he says, after several more moments inside Finn’s head. “Sensing you?”

Finn points a finger at him.

“Don’t you do that to me,” he says.

Ben smiles.

“It’s not like it’s for the first time.”

They both swallow.

“So, what do you wanna drink?” Ben asks quickly. “You _are_ gonna have a drink with me, right? Or just fries with sauce?”

“I’ll drink with you,” Finn says, smiling. “What, like, Trandoshan ale?”

“No, I hate that,” Ben sighs, shifting in his seat and his knee knocks for the second time against Finn’s. “Corellian wine, maybe. You ever had that?”

 _“Corellian_ wine?” Finn says, scrunching his nose as Ben feels Finn’s knee knock back.

“Okay,” Ben smiles. “Not that, then… Sunburns.”

 _“Now_ you’re talking,” Finn says nodding slowly, settling his knee against Ben’s, and Ben settles his back.

Ben inhales a deep breath and feels his chest expand far beyond what a typical breath should.

 _Fuck you,_ Ben thinks to himself. _You’re a fucking arsehole._

He goes to raise his hand, to call over a droid and order, then stops, remembering he can’t do that here anymore. Somehow, in all this, he almost forgot that. Is he really this relaxed now? They haven’t even drunk anything yet, is he getting careless already? Rey’s only been gone for...

“What’s wrong?” Finn asks.

“Ah... fuck, nothing.”

“Ben?”

“I nearly just fucking raised my hand and ordered,” he grunts, shifting his knee away from Finn’s and feeling his stomach clench, and the muscles throughout his whole body tense. _“You_ need to order, or we _both_ need to go.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Finn murmurs, frowning.

Ben glares at Finn from across the table.

“And don’t you _look_ at me like that, either.”

“Order,” Ben grunts again.

“You know I’ve got a girlfriend, too,” Finn mutters, narrowing his eyes at Ben. “You’re not the only one.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You do so…”

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

“Ben…”

“Fuck you, we’re leaving.”

Finn leans forward and points at Ben again.

“You watch yourself,” he hisses. “You can’t leave here without me and you know it.”

 _“Watch me,”_ Ben hisses back.

He moves to stand but Finn has whipped the end of the leash from his hand and holds it firm.

“You kidding me?” Ben breathes, raising a hand to the back of his own neck where the soft leather collar has him pinned.

Ben leans forward, and he feels the leash pull with him as Finn draws him closer, pulling the length from beneath the table and reigning Ben in, towards him.

 _“No,”_ Finn whispers. “I’m not kidding you, Ben, and you are _not_ leaving here like this.”


	35. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 7 of 8. Rey.

Rey's nearly home. She slows her chew on the last of the Bantha jerky. She can feel Ben through the bond. Sense him. She thinks he's still in the diner, but something's not quite right. She frowns. Should she reach out? As she wonders about it she mounts the last few stairs.

Force-connecting's kind of like following stairs. Steps. Rey can always feel his emotions first, just like this - it’s the first stage in the process - and it must be exactly the same for him, although they’ve never actually talked about it. This is all just guesswork, really.

She reaches the top of the stairwell, presses her palm to the entrance pad, and the door to the apartment opens. She smiles down at the cat with one ear as it saunters through the door, following its new friend inside. 

She can sense more of Ben now. The not-quite-right feeling has sharpened. He's anxious.

 _Hardly surprising,_ Rey thinks to herself, wryly.

Rey can feel it too, in the pit of her stomach, and that doesn’t match how she currently feels; happy that her belly is full of food and happy about the cat, who she’s watching clean rapturously behind its remaining ear with a wet paw, while it sits in the middle of the charcoal rug on the floor.

 _Ben, you need to take a breath,_ she thinks.

 _Get out of my head,_ he thinks back.

That’s the second stage in the process: hearing Ben's thoughts.

 _I’m not in your head, you’re in mine,_ she returns.

Rey swallows the remnant jerky in her mouth and begins to remove the bags from around herself, as well as her woolen boots. She leaves the boots and the small leather pouch by the door and carries the full haversack to the kitchenette. She dumps it on the island bench then walks to the lounge, lifts the seat on the storage compartment beneath the sofa and returns her weapons.

He's gone silent.

 _Ben?_ she thinks again.

_What?_

_What’s wrong?_

_Nothing,_ Ben thinks back.

Should she take him at his word? If nothing’s wrong, why is he so anxious now that she can feel him through the bond? She stares again at the cat as it sets its paws neatly in front of its full belly, and curls the tip of its tail around the pads of its neatly-placed front feet, at rest on its haunches. It stares up at her and blinks. Rey frowns.

On Kashyyyk, they never needed to understand the process of Force-connecting, or how to really control it. To learn how to make it flip, like how you learned to breathe air; between an involuntary and a voluntary action, between a behavior that was conscious or unconscious, depending on things.

They’d never really needed that degree of control, because they’d always been pretty safe, towards the end. Their time measurements had been in sync, so they could always connect at night, when everyone else was asleep. But once the Resistance left that sector - in that year they'd spent waiting - it had become essential to understand how to Force-connect.

 _Don’t lie,_ Rey thinks.  _Where’s Finn?_

_Forget it, everything’s fine._

_Famous last words,_ she thinks to herself.

 _Fuck off, Rey,_ he cuts.

Her stomach clenches. That thought had almost been vocal. That was the third stage; his voice and his image would manifest around her, and the last stage was touching. The  _metaphysical shit,_ as Ben called it.

_Ben, you need to take a breath. Are you still in the diner?_

_Yes,_ he thinks back.  _Where are you?_

_I’m home. I found a cat._

Rey smiles faintly at it, curled up asleep in the middle of the rug with its head upside down, sleeping on its head; the dirty, fur-covered plane of its gullet nearly parallel to the ceiling.

 _You found a what?_ he thinks back.

Rey grimaces, because perhaps she could have chosen a better time to broach this subject, or at least think it through first, prepare a response in the event it came up unexpectedly. Like now.

 _I found a cat,_ she repeats.

Can cats live in apartments? Or is that cruel? Maybe they shouldn’t live in confined indoor spaces, although this one seems okay right now...

_Ben?_

_What?_ he thinks back.

_Do you know much about them?_

_About cats?_ he asks.

_Yeah. Do they need to be outside all the time, or can they be inside too?_

_Maybe a droid would be more appropriate, Rey,_ he thinks back.

She supposes it had been nice, on Jakku, to have a droid of her own for that short time she had. She misses BB-8.

_Are you allergic to cats?_

_I’m allergic to this conversation, Rey. Can you just... leave me alone, for a minute. Please?_

She rolls her eyes and looks again at the sleeping cat.

 _It seems alright now,_ she thinks to herself, and then she thinks it to the cat.  _Don’t you? Air?_

 _What?_ Ben thinks back.  _You called it_ _what?_

_Shut up, Ben, get out of my head. You’re supposed to be spending time with Finn._

_I fucking am,_ he thinks back. _But you can’t call a cat that, Rey. That’s not a name._

_Of course it’s a name._

_Air is a thing, Rey. It’s not a name._

She rolls her eyes again.

_Are you being this rude to Finn? Is that why you’re upset?_

_No,_ he thinks back.

_No to which one, Ben?_

_I mean, yes._

Rey sighs and wonders if Ben will ever not be in some kind of emotional mess.

 _Probably not,_ she thinks to herself, as she realises he’s gone silent again.

She can still feel him. His anxiety is lessening, and that’s somewhat reassuring.

_Rey?_

She sits down on the charcoal rug, next to the sleeping cat, and crosses her legs beneath her.

_Yes?_

_You’re still home right?_

_Yes,_ she thinks back, sensing.  _Ben, you don’t need to come here, you’re fine..._

_I don’t want to be with you._

Rey’s heart nearly stops.

_What?_

_I don’t want to be with you, I just need to tell you something now._

She can't breathe.

_Do you mean... you don’t want to come here now? You don't want to Force-connect now?_

_Yes,_ Ben thinks back, as Rey gulps in the suddenly air, then releases an enormous sigh of relief.  _I just need to tell you something now._

“What is it?” she whispers, her heart still thumping as she reaches out her hand very slowly and it hovers above the cat.

 _I love you,_ Ben thinks to Rey, through the bond.

Very gently, Rey lowers her hand to Air, and runs her palm along its dirty fur once. One very light stroke.

“I love you, too,” Rey says, to her man and her cat.


	36. Measured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 6. Part 8 of 8. Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You read it right. Finn POV.

Finn released the leash.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Ben.

Finn removed his hands from beneath the table and placed them palm-down on its surface. He took a deep breath in through his nose, released it slowly through his mouth, and lifted his hands, facing them palm-out towards Ben. It was a gesture of surrender.

“I’m gonna go over there now,” Finn said. “I’m gonna go over there, to the counter, and I’m gonna order a couple of drinks and some food. And if you’re gone when I get back, that’s okay. You’re a free man now, Ben. You’re free to do what you want. I can’t stop you, and I shouldn’t try... I’m really sorry...”

Finn slid from the seat of the booth then, and left Ben alone.

Now Finn walks back to the booth, with two Sunburns, and Ben is still there. Still sat with his back to the room. And Finn smiles because Ben is not only still there but because Ben is also removing the collar and leash.

Finn sets the glasses of syrupy cocktail down on the table, and slides back in to the opposite side of the booth.

“Do you know you’re measured?” Ben murmurs.

Finn watches him neatly loop the collar’s leash and place it carefully with the cuffs beside himself on the padded seat. Then they both reach together for the Sunburns.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re measured,” Ben repeats.

_“Measured?”_

“Yes.”

“Do you ever think that about _yourself?”_ Finn asks, sipping from his glass. “I mean, what you just did there with the leash... _That_ was pretty measured.”

“I’m not measured.”

“And, you know what else?” Finn says, carrying on regardless.

“What?”

“While I was over  _there,”_ he presses, nodding at the counter, “You sat here and calmed yourself down. That was pretty measured, too.”

“I had help doing that.”

“That’s okay. You still did it.”

Finn stares at Ben from across the top of his drink, watching him sip long from the tall glass in his hand. Ben’s knee taps against Finn’s, then settles there beneath the table, where no one else can see. Where only they can feel. And the gentle thing in Finn’s mind returns; the thing Ben did to it before, that feels kind of weird, but that doesn’t hurt at all.

“You’re sensing me,” Finn murmurs.

“Sorry,” Ben mutters back, as the mind-thing withdraws, and the knee beneath the table does, too. “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not uncomfortable.”

“I do it to Rey all the time.”

 _Oh man, the knee or the mind-thing?_ Finn thinks to himself.  _Pick one, quick._

“The mind-thing?” Finn stabs in the dark.

“Yeah,” Ben says. “The knee thing, too, though.”

 _“Fuck,”_ Finn breathes, smiling. “Stop that.”

Ben smiles back.

“What are we doing?”

“Drinking,” Finn answers.

“I feel something for you,” Ben murmurs.

“I feel something for you, too,” Finn murmurs back.

He watches Ben shift in his seat, and his eyes seem to fix to a point on the table between them. When Ben re-settles, Finn presses his ankle cautiously to Ben’s and their eyes meet. They are gentle and wide, and Finn notices now that one of them is slanted. Ben has one eye that’s slanted. Finn takes a deep breath.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“I really like you,” he whispers.

“I like you too, Finn.”

“Okay.”

A service droid arrives with baskets of food. Finn notes the faint nod Ben gives it, and his stomach flips at the way Ben looks at it; with a gaze that’s commanding but not unkind. Finn drops his eyes quickly to his drink and feels Ben inside him again, sensing. Finn drains his glass to tame his nerves, but his stomach is still doing flips.

“You want another drink?” Ben asks him.

“Sure,” Finn exhales.

“Two more,” Ben says, before the droid leaves the booth.

For several minutes they do nothing but eat until their second round of drinks arrives.

“Make me keep a lid on  _this,”_ Finn hears Ben say, with eyebrows raised, indicating the fresh drink in his hand. “Please.”

“Okay,” Finn says.

“How long are you staying?” Ben asks. “Do you need to return somewhere?”

“I need to see Rose.”

“Where is she?”

“They’re moving around the Outer Rim. They change locations.”

“That’s difficult,” Ben says. “Is Chewie still here?”

“Yes.”

“Will the two of you leave, and come back?” Ben asks.

“Probably, yeah,” Finn says. “But I’m not sure when.”

“I want you to come back,” Ben murmurs. “I like your company.”

“I like yours, too.”

“So, don’t leave yet,” Ben urges. “Please.”

“I don’t think we can, anyway...”

Finn feels Ben sense him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Ben breathes.

Finn frowns.

“Tell you what?”

“You know what,” he whispers.

“Ben, you need to  _stop_ that,” Finn levels. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, if you don’t use  _words_ to  _say it_ to me. I’m not  _Rey...”_

Finn takes a long sip from his glass, then sets it down on the table.

“...If you just keep doing this _sensing_ thing all the time, we are  _never_ gonna have a real  _conversation...”_

“You’re gonna be a father,” Ben murmurs, and then he drains his second drink.

Finn jolts.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks.

Finn wants to tell Ben that he isn’t measured.

“Ben?” Finn whispers.

He wants to tell Ben that he’s _never_ been that.

 _“Say_ it,” Ben whispers back.

Finn wants to tell Ben that he’s only hanging on by a thread right now, and it’s gossamer thin. He’s not a measured man, he never has been. Ben’s wrong.

“I’m really, really fucking scared, Ben,” Finn stammers.

Ben’s hand reaches beneath the table, and lands on Finn’s knee. It curves around the outside of his lower thigh, and pulls the knee towards Ben’s own. Finn tries to swallow, but there’s a lump in his throat the size of a small moon, and he can’t.

“It’s okay,” Ben murmurs, squeezing gently at the knee. “I get scared, too.”

Finn reaches beneath the table and puts his hand over Ben’s.

“Don’t tell Rey,” Finn whispers back.

“I won’t.”

“I’m afraid to be a father,” Finn murmurs.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

Beneath the table Ben turns his hand so his palm faces up. Ben makes a nest, and Finn curls his fingers inside it.

“My father used to bring me here when I was a kid,” Ben says. "We used to eat here all the time."

Finn stares across the booth at Ben, watching him blink. His eyes look wet.

“You wanna go now?” Ben asks, after a while.

“Yeah,” Finn says, swallowing. “Back to yours.”


	37. Coming Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 7. Part 1 of 3. Ben.

Finn had tucked the helmet beneath his arm with the gauntlets inside, and Ben had slid the collar and leash into the back pocket of his jeans. Then they’d walked home together without all the get-up.

 _Home,_ Ben thinks now, as he lifts his hand to Rey’s hair-strewn nape and strokes there with his fingertips.

Finn had felt nervous then, as they’d left the diner, so Ben had reassured him about two things. The first was Rey would flay them alive when she found out they’d returned from the Meltdown sans the scenario. The second was Ben wasn’t worried about being found here on the Moon anymore, or about leaving the safety of the apartment. Going out and coming back.

In the early hours of yesterday morning, as Ben and Finn had come back, they’d spoken a few more words but not many; Ben had been sensing.

Something has changed in the near-week he and Rey have been here. The Moon is safe. The path Ben first saw a year ago, when they made love in the dirt at the edge of the Mysess Glade, is clarifying itself again. He senses that same path will lead them somewhere far beyond this eventually, but it won’t happen yet. For some reason it can’t. Once more, they're waiting.

 _You’ll love that,_ Ben thinks wryly to Rey’s sleeping form, as he lies awake in bed, unable to fall asleep, with his thighs tucked beneath hers and his bare chest pressed close to the warmth of her back.

While he listens to the soft snuffle sounds she makes as she sleeps, Ben thinks about waiting.

When had he stopped feeling it? He still feels anxious about so much, but it’s not about waiting anymore. Gently, he brushes away locks of her hair to clear a spot of skin at her nape. He presses his lips there in a soft kiss.

When she was on Kashyyyk, he used to hate waiting, but he doesn’t need to hate it anymore. What he waited for there is here with him now. He kisses her nape for a second time, then rolls out of bed. Under the filtered light of the early evening, sneaking in through the closed cedar venetian blinds above the bed, Ben searches the cold floor with a bare toe for his black trunks.

 _You’re a free man now,_ Finn’s voice echoes inside Ben’s head.  _You’re free to do what you want._

There was a time, before things happened with Rey after Crait, when he couldn’t articulate feelings at all; it had been really fucking hard to define what he felt. Just  _thinking_ was hard and there were many things he couldn’t think about, and many more things he couldn’t say. There are still many things he can’t say, he admits, as he pulls on the trunks. But here and now on the Smuggler’s Moon, Ben thinks he might have started learning how.

_Finn’s a free man, too._

Ben opens the bedroom door then steps into the pitch black of the lounge room, where there are no windows and there are no lights on because Finn is reclined on the sofa, sleeping. But Ben already knows the truth in that.

“Not sleeping, either?” Ben whispers, as his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he quietly closes the door behind himself, and looks towards the curved form of Finn’s back, which lies at rest below the surepp blanket. “Are you okay?”

Ben crosses the floor to the sofa and crawls on. Finn rolls to his back. Right-angled to his body, Ben leans against the black cushions, then tucks his feet beneath the lower edge of the blanket where Finn’s bare toes are snugged. Ben rests his toes against Finn’s but his eyes fix themselves to Rey’s cat, still lying curled in a tight ball fast asleep on the charcoal rug. Sensing Finn’s eyes, Ben lifts his gaze and shifts his foot.

“Sorry,” Ben murmurs.

“You don’t have to move it,” Finn whispers. “Not if you don’t want to, Ben.”

He returns his foot to rest against Finn’s.

“Your toes are really cold,” Finn notes.

“The floor here is fucking freezing, I keep telling Rey we need to get carpet. Or some more rugs. Or something.”

“That one is nice,” Finn says, nodding towards the one with the cat on it. “Do you know where it came from?”

Ben senses.

“The cat?”

Finn starts to rub his big toe against Ben’s.

“Yeah,” Finn murmurs.

“She brought it home,” Ben sighs, rubbing his big toe back, but with eyes still for the cat.

“She did?”

“Yeah.”

“Last night?”

“Yeah,” Ben repeats, still rubbing at Finn with his toe, and still feeling Finn rub back. “She found it somewhere, she told me in the diner when you left.”

“I didn’t leave, I went to order.”

Ben’s stomach clenches and his toes all curl. He hears breath catch in Finn’s throat. His eyes leave the cat and he glances at Finn, sensing.

“Sorry,” Ben whispers. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You need to cut your toenails, Ben,” Finn murmurs.

Ben gives up a faint smile.

“That’s what Rey says, too.”

He shifts his foot and settles the pad of it over the silky top of Finn’s, just below the toes.

“You have really smooth feet,” Ben notices. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Finn murmurs, smiling just as faintly back. “That’s what Rose says, too.”

They spend the next few minutes in silence, Finn staring at the place beneath the blanket, where Ben’s foot continues its slow rub against his own, and Ben staring at Rey’s cat.

“Ben?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t remember my father,” Finn says, quietly.

Again Ben’s stomach clenches and his toes all curl. He shifts and rubs the pad of his foot hard against the top of Finn’s, trying to rub something away. Maybe it’s the breath he knows Finn’s about to take, because Ben knows now it hurts Finn, when his toes all curl accidentally like this, and scratch at Finn’s very soft skin.

The silky stuff. The stuff that pulls tight across the bridge of Finn’s foot, and that just might be the softest part of him. It just might also be the softest part of Ben, he doesn't know. He should maybe ask Rey.

“Okay,” Ben starts off slowly, shifting his eyes to Finn’s. “Do you want to talk about him, then?”

“Not really,” Finn answers, meeting Ben’s gaze. “Could we maybe talk some more about yours, though?”


	38. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 7. Part 2 of 3. Rey.

Rey wakes from a deep sleep. She rolls to her right, to face the side of the bed on which Ben usually sleeps, and snuggles into the space he usually fills when he’s usually here with her. But he’s not here now.

Ben’s been here, though. The surface of the satin sheet still holds the heat of his body. When she shifts her head to his pillow, remnants of that heat are still there. She can sense he’s near. She can sense Finn, too. They’re in the lounge with Air.

Rey presses the tip of her nose to the pillow, inhaling. She can smell him. Ben has always smelt like things of air. Like plants after rain or just before it. Petrichor. The smell of the air on Takodana. The place he first touched and held her, although Rey can’t remember any of that, only his scent. They talked about it once.

She blinks in the semi-darkness then snuggles further beneath the satin sheet. Since returning here in the past week they’ve added two surepp blankets to this bed. One is green and one is blue but Rey never uses either of them. It’s Ben who likes them. He feels the cold more than she does.

Ben likes to draw the blankets up and tuck them in around her body, but his own body is so warm already that she overheats, especially when he presses himself against her, and big-spoons when they sleep. At those times Rey likes to work her toes out from the blankets. Or to kick them off completely. To feel cool air around herself and her toes; to balance the heat.

She brings one hand to the place on the pillow where she can still feel Ben’s heat now, where she can still detect his lingering scent. There’s a faint smell of the trillium soap they use to wash with and there’s another scent there of something sweet and syrupy. She thinks it’s the sugar in the cocktails he likes. He and Finn must have drunk those at the Meltdown.

Rey senses again for the lounge room, then stops. Ben’s up for a reason. She wonders what it is. Should she sense for it? Should she probe them both now in the lounge room? Probe for Ben’s thoughts? For Finn’s, too? Or would that be unethical?

Rey shifts a little on the satin surface of the bed, beneath the sheet. She could be warmer, now that Ben has taken the warmth of his body away from her to Finn. Rey reaches down to the blankets and pulls them up around herself. Then she wriggles down again. That’s warmer. That’s more like the temperature she’s up to when Ben is here. It feels nice.

Are they talking in the lounge room? She hopes they’re talking. Are they doing something else as well? Maybe they’re talking  _and_ doing something else as well. What’s the something else as well?

Rey brushes her lips across the pillow and holds the very tip of her tongue between gentle teeth, almost tasting the scent of petrichor, and soap, and sugar.

That time she’d emerged from the 'fresher, and found them together on the sofa, when Ben had kissed Finn’s cheek, had he wanted something else too? Finn’s mouth? Is that why he’s gone out there now? She knows urges exist in Ben. Do they also exist in Finn? There’s certainly  _something_  in Finn, something more than what she’s always thought was there; more than circumstance. Is it a destiny of sorts? Something fated? She doesn’t understand it. And she can’t seem to resolve it.

Rey shifts again. She’s feeling warm beneath the blankets and she’s starting to feel a familiar warmth deep between her legs. She slides her hips on an angle, grinding softly into the mattress as she lies on her back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking some more about Ben and Finn.

She stretches out the length of her spine and plays with the feeling of that, combined with the grind of her hips. She can angle sideways and that feels nice. There’s a point at which the pressure intensifies, deep between her legs, as the muscled walls within her are forced together by the slow action she takes. She can squeeze herself together, too, and that feels nicer. And when she angles sideways, and squeezes at the same time, that feels nicest. That feels good.

Rey’s mouth opens and she arches her back. Her inhalations are lengthening. She starts to repeat that action, the sideways shift and the squeeze and the arch, until it all becomes a roll.

She looks down her body, beneath the blankets, and watches the smooth contours of herself as they move. Aside from times like this, she never really stops to appreciate much about how she looks. Or maybe she does, but she preferences other appreciations. Other, more practical observations. Like how other people look.

Rey’s always noticed how Ben looks. She noticed how he looked on the sofa with Finn. She noticed how Ben looked when Finn cut his hair. She noticed that Ben barely raised an eyebrow when Rey suggested Finn collar and lead him around on a leash last night. And she wanted to notice them just before that, in this room, before they left. When Finn helped Ben dress.

She’s thinking of that and she’s noticing her body as she starts to make herself feel good. They’re having urges in the lounge room, and she’s having one here, as she slides her right hand down the length of her torso as the other finds her left flank. The right hand arrives at the thatch of hair between her legs. She slips two deft fingers beneath it, between her folds. Rey inhales.

The shifting and the grinding of earlier have made her slick, and she likes the way her fingers feel as they slide between the buttered folds of herself, unmasked by her spread knees. Her ankles are crossed, because it’s comfortable like that. It’s cosy. It’s also warm. As she feels her way along herself, she recalls the feel of Ben’s toes, brushing hers. That always feels nice, when he does that. She shifts her ankles and brushes the pads of her toes together.

Gently, Rey works the pad of her middle finger to her clit and lightly begins to circle it. Just with one finger. She’s done this many times in the past year, and she knows what she likes by now. It’s not like that time she did this on Kashyyyk, when she was just doing what felt good when Ben did it.

The things he does still feel good. He knows about all the things she’s going to do now, but there is something different about doing them to herself. It isn’t better, it’s just more intense. It all just seems to happen faster; there’s no stopping or waiting or repositioning. And it’s all about her.

The warmth in her grows. The plush folds swell as she rubs and her muscles pulse a little. She likes to squeeze them when she reaches this stage. That intensifies the pleasure she feels from the light rub she gives to herself. And she likes to clench her arse a little too. That creates a slight upward thrust that makes her feel like her cunt is opening. Like it wants something. Like it needs something, and Rey knows exactly what it needs. But that’s in the lounge room with Finn.

Rey’s left hand, dreamily stroking the skin of her left flank, is sending little tremors up and down her skin now, and she’s watching the nipple on her left breast stiffen and blush in response. She lifts her hand to it, resting the side of her left forefinger against its lower edge, then pressing down on the topside with her thumb. She starts to rub down with her thumb experimentally and her mind wanders back to the lounge. Is he kissing Finn’s cheek again now?  

On her nipple, there’s a spot Rey can target. Ben knows it. And when something hits it, things just spiral. She finds the spot and gently starts to rub, but only enough to build the pleasure between her legs to the next stage. The one where she shifts to her right hip, still on her back, because from here she can enter herself with her fingers, and bring her thumb to her clit at the same time.

Rey positions two fingers at her entrance and rubs down on her clit. Her breath comes out heavy. She glances from the nipple in her hand to a place in front of her, just beyond the bed, that she’s not really looking at; she’s just looking there as she concentrates on the positioning of her hip, required for maximum control of her dominant hand.

She can slide her fingers in now, just inside her entrance, and she presses the pad of each one down firm. Rey rubs with her thumbs, one at her clit and the other at the sweet spot on her nipple, and she can almost feel herself starting to verge. It’s the threshold.

She wants to cross it, but the wait is delicious. She wants just as much to hold her body here for as long as she can. She’s learnt how good this feels. To wait just a little bit longer. The one time she still likes to wait. To keep herself here at this place, as she grows ever wetter, and in that time notices her smallest finger.

It always just seems to happen like this, she’s never really  _intended_ for it to. The small soft pad of her smallest finger just always seems to work its way here, where it's ended up now, because her hand is so far spread across her cunt; her thumb at her clit, two fingers inside her lubricious vagina, and the tip of her pinky tapping against her soft arsehole.

And that thought always makes her start to ache for the climax, the thought that her smallest finger is tapping her smallest hole, and she loves it. It’s dirty, and so is she, and maybe Ben is being dirty with Finn in the lounge. She imagines it happening, in the place in front of her just beyond the bed, where she’s looking to, but not looking at; Rey fills that place with their image, and holds her breath as she presses her smallest finger gently inside herself. Just her pinky. Feeling how soft the skin is, just inside there. And it's just a little bit wet, because she is so wet now.

The muscles around both entrances quiver then ripple, until they peak at last in a sequence of furious pulses. Rey gasps as she comes, still adoring her body with her own two hands, as now she imagines Ben’s tongue, thrust inside Finn’s open mouth as they lock in the deepest of kisses. She closes her eyes, and inside her head Ben’s jaw kneads, his big warm hand at the back of Finn’s neck in a soft caress, as he lays Finn down on the sofa and begins to mount him.

Rey’s eyes roll and her shoulders slowly release the tension they’ve been holding, as her whole body collapses with the vision, leaving her slack on the bed on her back, her head dropped to one side and feeling warmth flood through her. Beneath the touch of her satisfied hands, she’s warmer than Ben and the blankets. And she’s made that heat herself.


	39. Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 7. Part 3 of 3. Finn.

“So, you’re sure?” Ben checks again.

Finn fidgets nervously with the weave of the surepp blanket.

“You’re absolutely certain you don’t want to talk about your father?”

“Is this what I think it is?” Finn asks, still fidgeting with the blanket.

Ben exhales through his nose then nods.

“Wow,” Finn breathes, shaking his head. “You’re letting me  _sleep_ under this? I mean, you do know how rare albino surepps are, right?”

“Quit that.”

“Quit what?” Finn says quickly, glancing up at Ben.

“You know  _exactly_ what,” Ben levels. “You’re changing the subject.”

 _”I’m_ changing the subject?” he hints.

“I asked you first,” Ben counters.

Finn fixes his gaze to the blanket but ceases the fidgeting.

“Is Rey still here?” he asks.

“You wanna talk to her instead of me about your father?”

“No,” Finn says quietly, certain.

“She’s awake,” Ben coaxes. “I can go get her for you, if you want.”

“I’d rather talk to you,” Finn murmurs. “Ben?”

“Mm?”

“She’s okay with this, right?”

“Us talking?”

“Yeah,” Finn mutters.

“She’s fine,” Ben grins.

“Why you grinning?” Finn asks. “Why you grinning like that? Huh? _Why,_ Ben?”

“Nevermind.”

“I _am_ minding though,” Finn warns. “I don’t mind your foot, but I am minding that look on your face right now.”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, shifting and still grinning.

_“What?”_

“She’s fingering herself into oblivion in there,” Ben discloses, nodding at the closed door of the bedroom. “She likes the thought of us out here.”

Finn’s jaw drops and he narrows his eyes at Ben.

“Oh, man, no, that’s  _not_ okay.”

Ben laughs and points a long and accusing finger at him.

“You _made_ me say that...”

“You _can’t_ use the Force like that, Ben, people need  _privacy…”_

“That was  _her,_  not  _me,”_  he interjects.

“What do you mean?”

“She shows me stuff without meaning to, that’s not probing,” Ben murmurs.

“I don't get it..."

“Ah, nevermind,” he sighs. “Just... rest assured she’s fine with all  _this.”_

Finn watches him indicate the way they’re positioned on the sofa; Finn’s sat himself up as they’ve continued to talk, but their feet are still beneath the heat of the blanket, and Finn can still feel the pad of Ben’s foot, rubbing gently across the bridge of his own. It’s comforting. Finn shifts his hand to the blanket again, nervously pulling at a loose loop of surepp wool.

 _How do you talk about something you can’t even remember?_ Finn wonders to himself.

“Well,” Ben says, quietly, “Maybe... you just start there.”

Finn glances with narrowed eyes at Ben again.

“Maybe,” Ben continues slowly, side-eyeing Finn, “You just start by talking about their  _absence._ You just start by talking about how you  _can’t_  remember them. Because what you can’t remember is maybe just as important now as what you can. I don’t know...”

Finn watches Ben blink in the darkness. It’s funny how, if you let enough time pass by, in the darkness you can see without the presence of any light.

“Sorry,” Finn hears Ben murmur, as his deep and unexpectedly calming voice breaks Finn’s reverie for a moment. “I didn’t mean to do that again.”

“To use the Force?” Finn whispers.

“Yeah, I keep fucking that up with you...”

“It’s okay,” Finn whispers back. “I’m glad you did it. I didn’t really know if I would have been able to get that out into actual words.”

Finn feels the gentle thing in his mind again, the thing Ben does to it that’s weird, but that doesn’t hurt.

“You think you’re scared to be a father,” Ben continues, quietly, “Because you didn’t know one. You’re scared you won’t know what to do.”

Pressure builds at the corners of Finn’s eyes and they grow hot. He frowns as another lump emerges in his throat, and when he finally finds he can swallow again, he grimaces.

“Do you want me to stop?” Ben murmurs.

Finn shakes his head.

“You’re sure?

“Yes,”

“Okay,” Ben agrees, and then continues.

“You think that’s the only way to be a father, to have known one. But, you can’t remember yours, and so you think you can’t  _be_ one. You think you _can’t_ be a father, even though you know you’re going to be. It’s going to happen anyway, whether you think you can do it, or not. You’re going to _have_ to do it. And you’re afraid of that. You’re afraid of not knowing the _right_ thing to do.”

Finn blinks and feels the cool tears coat his lower eyelids. He’s lost control of his lower lip for a moment. He’s glad it’s dark. He wonders how much Ben can see.

“I’m not looking,” Ben mutters, glancing away and staring towards their feet beneath the blanket. “You want a cup of caf or something? I can put some on. If you want.”

“No,” Finn urges. “Please stay here with me.”

“Okay,” Ben agrees. “Finn?”

He glances at Ben.

“Why do you think people who are fathers automatically know what the fuck they’re doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re implying,” Ben articulates, “That your father would have taught you something you didn’t already know how to do.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Ben says, firmly. “You’re implying that you can’t be a  _good_ father. You’re making an assumption that fathers are inherently  _good,_ but good people and fathers, Finn, they’re not one and the same.”

“This is about  _you_ now,” Finn says, slowly. “This is about  _Han._ Isn’t it?”

Ben goes silent. Finn feels Ben’s toes curling again, but it’s not as jarring as earlier. It’s a reflex action, Finn can tell that much, but the reaction doesn’t hurt like before, when Ben had scratched Finn with his toenail. It’s as though Ben’s stopped the reflex midway; it’s not a  _completed_ reaction.

“I’m right,” Finn whispers to Ben. “Aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Yes I am,” Finn presses, leaning forwards.

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Please don’t do this again, Ben,” Finn implores. “Please don’t shut me out.”

Ben rolls his eyes. Finn leans back and sighs.

“You know,” Finn starts, “From the moment I got here you’ve seemed sad. I thought it was just because you couldn’t go out, you were stuck in here hiding. You couldn’t leave and come back. But it’s not that.  _This_ is why you’re sad: because you can’t talk about  _anything._ And you wanna know something else?”

“No,” Ben deadpans.

“Well, I’m gonna tell it to you,” Finn says. “I know why you’re here in this place.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Rey told me,” Finn continues. “I  _know_ this apartment was your father’s and sure, I can’t use the Force but I do know  _for sure,_  Ben, that a guy doesn’t just come back to some place that used to belong to someone he wants everyone to think he never cared a damn thing for  _just for the fun of it._  You’re here for a _good reason,_ and it’s got  _nothing_ to do with  _hiding._ Although, maybe you are hiding something...”

“So, I  _miss_ him,” Ben hisses. “Are you  _happy_ now?”

“No,” Finn whispers back. “But I’m  _glad_ you  _said_ that.”

“Well congratulations, I’m so incredibly relieved for you that _you’re glad.”_

“Have you told Rey?” Finn sighs, ignoring the sarcasm.

“Fuck no,” Ben grunts.

“Why not?”

“Stop asking me questions.”

“Okay.”

“She already knows,” Ben says below his breath, after a moment or two.

“Huh?”

_“She already knows.”_

“But you don’t talk about it much," Finn asks, gently. "Right?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. I think a lot about it. That’s why she knows it.”

“Ben, talking about things is _helpful._ It’s not the same as _thinking_ about things. It makes you  _feel_ better to  _talk_ them through.”

“How can it possibly make you feel better to say something you already think?”

“Gets it off your mind,” Finn explains. “Otherwise it just gets stuck in your head and it ricochets around. And _then_ it comes out _all wrong._ Sometimes, it doesn’t even come out _at all._ And _that’s not good, Ben.”_

Finn knows he can’t sense. He’s not Ben, or Rey. He’s just a man who once figured out that you don’t have to react, no matter how much you’re conditioned to. You can stop a reaction. You can  _act._

Finn leans in, his eyes on Ben’s mouth. Then he feels a gentle pressure against his chest. Ben’s hand is staying him.

“I thought you  _wanted_ this,” Finn breathes.

“I’m not saying I don’t,” Ben whispers.

Finn feels Ben’s hand stroking at the bare patch of skin exposed by the cut of the white V-neck he wears, that Ben gave him to sleep in, and that used to belong to Han. Ben had said it, in the diner. He had said he felt something. And Finn had said it back.

“They’re  _urges,”_ Ben says below his breath.

“Yeah, they are,” Finn mutters, leaning in again but Ben’s hand is still there, staying him.

“Once we do this,” he hears Ben breathe, “You can’t  _undo_ it.”

Finn blinks into the darkness, and they both hear the door.

“Has someone made caf yet?”

Finn jerks himself away from Ben and draws his knees up, positioning his feet well away from Ben's, but a moment later something warm is wriggling its way beneath the blanket, in the corner of the sofa between himself and Ben. Rey’s lightly covered body snuggles in to Finn's, and she kisses the place where Ben’s hand has just been. Finn wonders if she can feel his rapid heart, or smell the sweat that’s broken out across his brow. He feels her draw away.

“I’ve been… thinking,” Rey says, slowly.

There’s more light in the lounge room now. The onsetting nighttime has triggered the orange-hued glowlamps on the streets below the window in the bedroom, the only one in the apartment, and the residual light filters in through the open bedroom door.

“There’s something I need to talk to you both about,” she continues.

Finn watches Rey, her hair disheveled and her cheeks a little flushed, but just beyond her Finn can still see him. Ben shifts, pulling Rey's body in to his and pressing his broad bare chest to her back, shifting his legs. The legs move further beneath the blanket until Finn feels the pad of Ben's bare foot again. It’s just a light touch. But it's there.

“It’s a...  _desire_ that I have,” Rey says, as Finn watches one of her hands begin to fidget with the same loose loop of surepp wool he nervously pulled at earlier.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. It keeps me awake sometimes, and it bothers me a _lot._ There’s something I need, from _both_ of you. There’s something I need you both to _do_ for me. Please?”

She looks up into Finn’s eyes. Her hand, the one that's been pulling at the loop on the blanket, reaches behind herself to locate and then stroke Ben’s thigh.

“I want to join a fetish fight club,” Rey says, resolute.  _“Please_  will you both sign-up with me?”


	40. Arriving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 8. Part 1 of 5. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garu-bears are from Legends, a species of bear known for protecting their cubs. I liked that symbolism, given the fatherhood themes in the recent chapters.

Ben’s wearing his old leather pants and boots, and his newer black V-neck. He supposes, though, if they’re really headed down the path of making a habit out of all this - if Rey is really serious about actually joining a fight club - what he really needs to be wearing is something more like what Finn has on right now.

Ben sighs internally at the thought of that; Finn’s wearing the full black body glove he wore beneath the bounty hunter armour he arrived in four nights ago, and Ben can’t decide if he should be outwardly happy about that or not, but he’s erring on the side of  _yes he should._

Rey’s dressed in the black Szona glove. Over the top she’s shrugged on the worn leather jacket that used to belong to his father, the same one she wears everywhere now. Ben loves her, and he loves her in that jacket. 

The three of them are walking in a westward direction and the greasy concrete beneath their feet is typically water-soaked. The rain rarely stops here. The pollutants in the air seed clouds, and when it doesn’t rain there’s usually a drizzle. Sometimes not, but usually.

In the rare event the water stops, there’s still the sound of run-off down drainpipes. A drip or a gush. Ben could almost follow the route he’s leading them along now by those sounds alone, or if not those sounds - the ones of gravity’s impact on the plenitude of filthy water on this filthy Moon - then certainly by the sounds of it moving through the air. By the impact of heat. By the elemental properties of the water becoming airborne again. The hiss of steam releasing from the underground, where they’re heading now.

Ben remembers the street they’re looking for by its colour alone. Everywhere down south-west of the apartment block is flooded with signage, but the colours change depending on the district. The main trading strip of the sex district is red.

The densely-packed sex concourse is flooded with the spectrum-red light of the glowlanterns suspended overhead. There’s a chaotic abundance of signage in mostly Aurebesh, but there’s a fair whack of Huttese too. The flickering signs are largely in the same garish crimson as the lanterns, but some of the neon has a less yellow hue. A cooler colour value. But those flashes of magenta only serve to make the dominant red more urgent. It’s stimulating. It makes Ben feel hungry.

The storefronts along the strip are densely packed. Every flagrant display of sex commerce along it projects at least one holo of a sentient or droid, either primped for or arranged as whatever fetish the vendors and pimps inside are peddling. But Ben’s not looking for a cheap gimmick. It’s just a door, pinioned between a protocol-droid love hotel, and the store from which he bought the soft blindfold, just over a week ago now.

They turn at the corner, just past the Meltdown, and head due south. Ben doesn’t need it, but the grid on which the Moon’s streetscape is structured in this quarter is useful. He can walk and not think. He can sense and not think, too, but he’s trying to get better at the thinking, as a way to get better at the talking.

“We’re nearly there,” Ben says.

“Is anyone else hungry?” Rey asks.

“Starved,” Finn answers.

“There’s a really good Bantha jerky cart up here,” Rey suggests, pointing then jogging ahead and crossing the street.

Ben crosses too, but keeps at a distance. Maybe he has enough space now to think alone for a minute.

“Have you been to this place before?”

 _Maybe not,_ Ben sighs to himself.

“No, just walked by once or twice,” Ben answers Finn, whose hung back with Ben as he’s lingered a few meters or so away from Rey, while she purchases food from the vendor at the cart; a mangled droid that looks like it survived the last war by the grease between its bolts, and little more.

Ben huffs.

“Fuck, that thing’s filthy.I will never understand this preference she seems to have for broken-down shit. Is that even gonna be  _sanitary?”_

Finn laughs and Ben finds himself smiling at the sound. They watch the droid slap strips of amber-coloured jerky down on the grimy surface of the cart. When Rey returns, she divides the wide, yard-long ribbons of dried meat amongst the three of them, and then they continue southward up the street.

Fetish fighting is something not altogether unfamiliar to Ben. He only knows the location of the club because, a year ago, when he first wandered down here, he recognised the symbol above its entrance: a small, visually innocuous image of a Garu-bear, stenciled in black over the stained concrete wall in which the rusty iron door is inset.

“So,” Finn asks, through a mouthful of jerky, “You’ve  _never_ been to one?”

“Not a  _club_ as such,” Ben says.

He senses Rey put several things together in that moment, but she doesn’t say anything. And she doesn’t think anything, either. He’s had random flashes of her thoughts as they’ve walked, but her voice inside his head’s gone suddenly silent.

“What do you mean?” Finn asks.

“I used to know some… people,” Ben says, quietly. “They used to fetish fight sometimes, but that was a long time ago...”

“Did  _you_ used to do it?” Finn asks.

“No, I just watched,” Ben answers. “It was fun to just watch.”

“You’re fighting, Ben,” Rey says, her tone explicit.

His stomach flips.

“No way,” he responds. “Tonight is for _you,_ Rey. We’re here because _you_ asked us. You basically  _manipulated_  us..." 

 _“Manipulated?”_ Rey exclaims. “You are  _so_ infuriating Ben, you are  _so_ into this and you  _know_ it.”

“I’m into  _watching_   _you_  do it."

“We’ll see,” Rey grins, as Ben halts both she and Finn.

“This is it,” he murmurs.

They stop, still tearing ribbons of dried Bantha meat from the strips of jerky in their hands with their teeth.

“Just remember the plan,” Ben hears Rey whisper.

 _I’ve got your back,_ Ben thinks through the bond, as his knuckles near the corroded surface of the rusty iron door, and knock.


	41. The Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 8. Part 2 of 5. Rey.

Rey chews on the last of the jerky as they wait at the door outside the club. After several minutes, a small section of iron she’d not noticed at first slides aside at waist height, and something small peers out at them.

 _Don’t say anything,_ she hears Ben think, through the bond.

In the silence, Rey can sense him affect whatever it is behind the door. Then it slides across on its overhead runners, and the three of them slip through the gap before the door slides closed again behind them.

 _Just walk,_ Ben thinks.

_What about Finn?_

_I’ve got him. Just follow the stairs and act natural._

Rey has her saber clipped to one of the waist straps of the small leather money pouch wound around her middle. Ben was convinced they’d have to pay to get in, so she brought it with them, and besides, she needed some kind of waist strapping to clip the hilt to, otherwise it hung too low on her body and wouldn’t conceal beneath the hem of Han’s jacket; although they’re all unmasked now, flagrant flaunts of Force-weaponry are probably pushing the friendship with good fortune too far.

Rey can feel her nerves now; perhaps Ben sensed them earlier, which is why he seems to have taken over, even though she’s leading the way. In the dim light, she descends the narrow flight of concrete stairs that platform out periodically, winding down in a sinistral spiral.

As they descend further beneath the surface, a faint thrum begins from somewhere still far below them; a low regular bass beat that Rey can feel reverberate in her solar plexus. The air down here smells of yeast and something bitter that she recognises vaguely as stale nicotine. There’s also something faintly sweet, and much more familiar than the nicotine smell; she can taste the memory of its flavour on her tongue.

 _Can we order drinks when we get there?_ Rey thinks through the bond to Ben.  _I’m sure I can smell that syrupy stuff they put in Sunburns at the Meltdown…_

 _No,_ he thinks back.

_Why not?_

_Too dangerous._

_But…_

_I’m happy to be here,_ Ben thinks back,  _But this is not fun until it feels safe, and it doesn’t yet, Rey._

They’ve arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Rey stops, waiting for the men to complete the last few as she thinks about that: safety.

She remembers how panicked Ben had felt four nights ago when they’d experimented with the soft blindfold on the sofa. When they get to the base of the stairs, she stops and turns to him.

Ben pulls her in and she lifts on her toes to reach his mouth. Rey can feel his hands slide their way around her hips. His palms seem to linger on the soft matt texture of her skin-hugging garment as they make their way to the curves beyond. Eventually he settles his hands at the lower contours of her arse, squeezing her there just enough to send little thrills up and down her body.

“I want you to fight, too,” Rey whispers, her lips still lightly pressed to his; they move against the surface of his own as she speaks.

Ben moves his hands and smiles, cupping her jaw in his warm palms.

 _We’re gonna cover you, someone needs to,_ he thinks back, still refusing to commit to fighting.

At the base of the stairs is a female Twi’lek with eyes Rey finds sad when she asks them for entrance credits. Rey notices the heavy metal shackle she wears about her neck as Rey senses Ben begin to affect the slave - just as he had the sentient at the entrance - but Rey stops him midway. She proceeds to hand over credits to the Twi’lek, who smiles faintly at Rey before indicating a passage lit by low-placed amber glowpanels along its narrow, dark-toned walls.

They walk along the passageway, their boots a muffled, rhythmic tap against the dark, carpeted floor. There are several black doors they pass along the way but these are all unmarked, and Rey wonders what’s beyond them.

“Training rooms, and some private arena rooms,” she hears Ben murmur from behind her, sensing he’s saying this for Finn’s benefit.

At the end of the carpeted, amber-lit passage another female Twi’lek slave greets them.

“Good evening,” she purrs to Rey, bowing her beautifully decorated head in welcome.

Rey hasn’t really felt  _that_ nervous yet, but now a torrent of it hits. What the fuck are they doing here? When did this seem like a good idea? She’s hardly even trained in over a week, and she’s definitely lost condition, she can feel it. A couple of times she’s mentioned this to Ben in passing over the course of the days they’ve so far spent here on the Moon, and he’s always flatly denied it, but who in the galaxy passes seven days and nights largely indoors eating doughnuts and pie, and doesn’t put on…

 _Rey,_ Ben prompts.  _Acknowledge the fucking hostess._

“Good evening,” Rey mutters back to the Twi’lek.

“How many arenas are here?” Ben asks.

The hostess gives Ben a keen look up and down before responding.

“Three,” she purrs again. “Two private, and one is public. Would you like to use one?”

“We’re here to watch,” Ben says, quietly. “Our  _friend…”_

He nods at Rey.

“...May like to participate later on in the evening.”

The hostess turns her knowing gaze back to Rey, who can feel herself blushing for some reason.

“Ah,” she purrs. “A  _human female in an arena…”_

Rey frowns, sensing.

“Private or public?” the hostess asks Ben, ignoring Rey now and fixing her gaze on him.

Rey’s frown deepens. Is she used to only addressing males? Does she think Ben and Finn - human males - have brought her here? Does she think this is  _their_ fetish? Her stomach tightens defensively. Experimentally, Rey begins to mind-probe the hostess.

“We’re not sure yet,” Ben says softly, in answer to the hostess’s question.

Rey feels him through the Force mind-trick the Twi’lek then, but even though that’s reassuring - this is the plan in the event of trouble - Rey remains on edge.

“Show us to the main arena,” Ben coaxes, with a calm and superior air.

“Yes, sir,” the hostess answers, the purr removed from her voice now, and she turns and leads them, without any further questions or comments, beyond the edge of the carpeted, amber-lit passageway.

The hostess leaves them after chaperoning for a few more moments, turning in silence to saunter back to her station at the entrance to the main arena room. Rey, Finn and Ben begin to observe their surroundings cautiously.

The glowlanterns hanging from the wooden ceilings in this space are low, their bulbs large, and the same amber hue that lit the entrance passageway creates an intimate atmosphere at odds with the size of this room.

The space is cavernous, much larger than Rey expected, and she wonders how far they are beneath street level now; the size of this room alone is comfortably six times that of their whole apartment.

In its centre is a circular arena edged by a continuous and convex plinth that runs the full lap of its perimeter. And as her eyes adjust, Rey notices that around the room's extremities are large, black leather lounges, all positioned with a view of the centre, and most of them occupied.

 _Ben,_ she thinks through the bond as her stomach tightens again,  _There are so many people here..._

 _Remember we’re only watching,_ he thinks back.  _If it’s not safe, we leave._

_Can you sense anything yet?_

_No, you?_

_No,_ she thinks back.  _But I'm too nervous. Please can we just have one drink? Then maybe I can relax. My stomach is in knots..._

 _Alright,_ he agrees, sighing audibly.  _You order though, I don’t wanna speak yet… And I don’t think Finn should, either..._

 _Why not?_ she frowns again.

_I don’t know… Maybe when we’re seated somewhere, I’ll figure it out, but not before..._

_You’re coming with me to order though, right?_

_Yeah,_ Ben thinks back.  _I have to, we have to accompany you everywhere now._

Rey glares.

 _“Why?”_ she hisses through her teeth. “I’m not  _helpless…”_

 _Stop it, Rey, for fuck’s sake,_ Ben glares back.  _Don’t speak yet, didn’t you sense her back there?_

 _The hostess?_ she thinks back. _Yeah, she thinks this is_ _y_ _our fetish..._

“She thinks you’re  _our slave,”_  he murmurs, and for the second time she senses Ben saying this for the benefit of Finn. “ _You’re_  the fetish, Rey.”


	42. Loveseat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 8. Part 3 of 5. Finn.

Finn feels nervous, and more than just a little bit out of the loop; nothing here quite makes sense to him. Then a finger hooks his pinky, and the next thing he knows Ben’s coaxing him along a path Rey’s just taken to the bar. By the time they reach the far side of the room, she’s already ordered and paid for drinks. Finn’s none the wiser now, but Ben’s touch is making him feel less sidelined.

Eventually Ben releases his soft grip and Finn watches him walk to the counter. He collects the tall glasses of Sunburn, then leads Finn and Rey back to one of the unoccupied lounges. There’s one small table at either end of its scrolled arms, and Ben sets all three drinks down on the one that’s closest to the bar.

Studded with silver rivets, the backrest of the generous black leather loveseat is high; scalloped at the top and winged at either end. Ben sits down on the side closest to the drinks and leans back. His dark eyes catch Finn’s; Ben nods at the empty space on his right. Finn settles himself down there.

The surface of the seat is firm. It’s clearly not designed for comfort, not like the sofa in Rey and Ben’s apartment – it doesn’t yield – but there’s something about it that still feels good to Finn. Something about the way the rivets shape and regulate the form of the padded leather beneath him, causing it to almost repel the muscles at the back of his upper thighs, glutes, and across his scapulae when he reclines. It’s oddly gratifying.

Rey doesn’t sit. Instead she reaches down for one of the Sunburns, sculls it, then shrugs off her jacket and throws it down on Ben’s lap. Finn watches as she and Ben lock eyes. After several minutes, she reaches around behind herself, removes the hilt of her saber and hands it to Ben. Slowly, she unwinds the lengths of leather strapping that fasten the small money pouch to her midriff. She passes that to Ben, too, as he hands back her saber.

Rey turns and walks away then, only stopping when she reaches the center of the main arena, where she gifts to the ground the hilt of the weapon, raises her chin and begins to pace. Ben collects one of the remaining drinks from the side table and passes it to Finn.

“You’re not drinking?” Finn asks, as he accepts the glass and takes a sip of the cool, sweet cocktail.

Finn notes Ben’s eyes have not left Rey.

“Not tonight,” he says, quietly.

“You gonna fight her?” Finn asks, taking a second, longer sip.

“No,” Ben murmurs.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, my blade’s too distinctive.”

“I thought you weren’t worried about that anymore? Being recognized?”

“Not up  _there,”_ Ben says, tilting his chin to indicate the surface above them.

Finn frowns. He drains the glass, then sets it down on the table beside him.

“But it’s just not safe enough down here,” Ben furthers, his eyes still on Rey. "It's not worth the risk."

“She brought us here wanting us to fight her though, didn’t she?”

 _“That_ hostess,” Ben mutters, nodding in the direction of the entrance, “Is surveilling us.”

Finn turns to look. He can see the lithe form of the Twi’lek silhouetted against the amber-lit mouth of the passageway. Ben’s right; she’s still watching them.

“She’s  _suspicious,”_  Ben urges, turning his gaze once more to Rey, still pacing in the centre of the arena.

“But it’s a  _fetish_ club, right?” Finn persists. “I mean, I get it that people who come here fetishize fighting, but it’s just for _kicks._  You're not gonna end up in a  _real_ fight...”

“The _private_ rooms are for that,” Ben explains. “Couples getting off on fighting each other, or getting off watching other people fight each other. Those are all _fetish_  fights, not  _real_  fights.”

Ben glances again at Finn.

“So, you and I, or you and I and Rey, could go into a private room and fetish fight, if you really wanted. That’d be fine,” he murmurs. “But that’s not what you do out here. In this arena, wealthy sentients basically gamble away the lives of their slaves.”

_“What?”_

“The hostess thinks we’ve come here to watch her either rip something apart, or die trying.”

Finn feels a surge of anger, and then it happens so fast; Ben is leant across his body, pinning him against the backrest. Hiss nose is pressed to Finn’s cheek. He can feel the soft hairs around Ben's mouth brush against his skin, while his left thumb finds the inside curve of Finn’s gloved thigh; the crease of his groin. Ben’s palm molds firm to the convex form of Finn’s upper right muscle, squeezing at it hard as his mouth closes in on Finn's ear.

 _“Don’t react,”_ Ben breathes. “You know who runs this place, right? Why there are  _Twi’lek_ slaves here?”

He does know, but words are now completely failing Finn. Ben is so close to him, and the studded seat of the lounge beneath feels good as Ben pins his body to it, preventing Finn from going anywhere and least of all to help Rey. But now, beneath Ben, he finds that urge has substantially lessened; just as Ben had slaked his earlier nerves, now he's also salved the rage.

“This is a  _Hutt_ establishment,” Ben murmurs, his upper lip still close enough that Finn can feel a light tickle as the edge of Ben's mouthbrow moves against the soft, delicate skin of Finn's tragus. “You know about Hutts, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You like ‘em?”

“No.”

“Wanna meet some?”

“No.”

 _“Then calm down,”_ Ben whispers, squeezing at the top of Finn’s thigh again. “She’s gonna be fine, Finn, trust me.”

Very slowly, Ben leans back and returns his gaze to Rey. And the very last thing he does is remove the hand still on Finn’s thigh.

"Ben?"

"Mm?"

“Please tell me that’s not gonna do what I think it is,” Finn whispers.

He's also now looking at Rey; she's eyeballing a Trandoshan making its way to the center of the arena with a Z6 riot control baton.

“It’s not gonna fight her yet, if that’s what you mean,” Ben answers.

The Trandoshan throws down the melee weapon in the same fashion Rey did with her saber minutes ago. Then it also begins to pace the arena’s perimeter.

“Then what’s it gonna do?” Finn whispers.

“Challenge,” Ben murmurs.

“So it  _is_ gonna fight her?” Finn asks.

“Probably,” Ben replies.

“Well,  _shit,_ you can’t let her fight a  _Trandoshan,_ they're  _huge...”_

The yellow reptilian towers over Rey, the top of her head well shy of its shoulder.

“She’ll be fine,” Ben grins. “All it’s got’s a glorified Bantha prod, she’ll wipe the floor with the mess of it she leaves.”

“Ben, it’s over  _two meters tall,”_ Finn stresses. “With a weapon designed to  _resist_ plasma ... and you’re gonna watch while she fights it with a  _lightsaber?_ Are you  _crazy?”_

“It’s a non-lethal weapon, Finn, you know that…”

“Doesn’t  _need_ to be lethal, Ben, I mean  _look_ at that thing. It only needs to stun her once, then it can tear her in two with its bare hands…”

Suddenly, Rey changes direction and walks to the centre of the arena. She calls the hilt to her hand before she reaches it, and the thrum Finn hears when she activates the dual blades is unmistakable. It takes him back to Takodana. To Starkiller. His stomach clenches, and now a raw panic rises.

“Ben, _really,”_ Finn breathes, his heart racing as he watches Rey twirl the hilt across the back of her hand as she resumes pacing, her eyes locked on the Trandoshan. “I mean... _what if she’s recognised?”_

“No one knows her,” Ben answers calmly, as the Trandoshan lumbers to the centre of the arena, and collects the baton with a swipe of its tri-claw. “There are very few people galaxy-wide who could identify her, and probably even fewer who could link her to that weapon...”

“But it’s a  _Jedi weapon._  There are  _no Jedi left…”_

“Exactly,” Ben nods, glancing at Finn. “To everyone here, she’s nothing more than a curiosity. A _fetish.”_

Finn stares at Ben, who gives him a faint smile before returning his attention to the arena. While the reptilian starts to wind the baton awkwardly beneath its forearm, Finn shifts on the lounge and slowly, as the alcohol begins to work its way through his still-panicked body, he drops his head to Ben’s deltoid and sighs.

Ben shifts in response, and Finn wonders if he should move away, but then Ben’s broad hand comes to rest on his other side, and with the crook of his arm Ben draws Finn in closer.

“It’s not coordinated enough to use one of those effectively,” Ben murmurs, in an even tone that begins to reassure Finn.

He adjusts his cheek against Ben, settling it eventually to the firm muscle of his nearest pec.

“Yeah,” Finn murmurs, cautiously. “I guess... I guess you gotta really get your _elbow_ underneath the central shaft, otherwise you can’t get enough pace on the ratchet action...”

“Those things are so fucking ridiculous.”

“You think?” Finn asks.

They both watch Rey pause the maneuvering. She eyes the Trandoshan carefully again, which is still spinning the shaft turbidly, without skill or any apparent intent.

“They’re fun to wield, though,” Finn adds, smiling. “And they sound cool when you do  _that_ to them…”

“They  _sound_ cool,” Ben says, as he and Finn listen to the metallic whip-click of the Z6 baton in the reptilian’s hand, “But they’re not  _that_ cool.”

“They're  _way_  better than blasters, though,” Finn says.

“Yeah, okay,” Ben chuckles, his chest vibrating softly beneath Finn's cheek. “I'll pay that... I guess it does kind of beat the living shit out of those primitive things.”

Finn snorts.

"Got nothing on a saber though, right?"

“No way," Ben chuckles again. "You know, you weren’t that bad with the saber that time.”

“Yeah, I was,” Finn mutters.

“You weren’t,” Ben eases. “I just had an advantage, that’s all.”

Finn frowns, thinking. Then he looks up at Ben.

“Seriously? Like... what do you mean, you were _probing_ or something then? Man, that's really unfair...”

Ben smiles.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, maybe if I hadn't been, it would’ve made for a more even contest. Might have turned out differently...”

“So," Finn starts, slyly. "Wanna re-match, then?"

“Maybe,” Ben grins, as they both turn back to watch Rey pivot, and begin a course straight for the Trandoshan.


	43. The Trandoshan And The Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 8. Part 4 of 5. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The liberation themes in this chapter are for red-applesith.

It’s a hunter by nature. Ben knows that much about the Trandoshan in the arena. Its instincts are to track and kill, and Rey’s wise to try to turn the tables on that; to go straight for it and throw it off balance. To beat it at its own game.

Ben watches her move with unbridled intent. In shock, the Trandoshan loses its footing for a moment, and the swinging stops. Its arm goes slack as the baton hangs limp while the creature re-calibrates the mechanics. This gifts Rey time to pause, position proper, and strategise. Not that there’s much of that needed here.

 _It’ll be over before it begins,_ Ben thinks, grinning.

He lets himself begin to relax a little as he remembers the drink he left earlier on the table to his left. There’s still a small element of risk here. Perhaps it’s in the likely event that this fight will finish too early. Ben wonders if Rey senses the risk in that, too.

Finn is still tense against his chest. Ben brings his hand to the outside of his elbow, cupping it gently and stroking the curve of his lower triceps with his right thumb. It’s an effort to reassure both himself and Finn. Ben lowers his mouth to the crown of his head.

“Noticed them yet?” he murmurs, raising his left forefinger in a subtle gesture.

In his improving mood, Ben lets the digit lead the rest of his arm beyond the scrolled armrest to the drink on the table, which he hasn't yet touched. He locates the cool glass, slick with condensation, and lifts it as he and Finn glance together at the pair of Gank Killers several lounges away - one in bronze cybernetics, the other carmine.

Unlike he and Finn’s, the Ganks’ eyes are not on their fighter, but on Rey. Every pair of eyes in the club track her with interest. Ben had been right; she’s a rare commodity.

“The Masters already know the slave’s toast,” Ben says, taking a small sip from the tall glass in his hand, and feeling the chilled syrup slide all the way down to a belly pre-warmed by Finn, still snugged against him.

They watch the Trandoshan recover its footing then stop, squaring itself to Rey as she stands prepared, the curved hilt of her saber in a two-handed grip above her left shoulder. The leading edge of her dual blade is held along her line of sight, her right shoulder forward. She favours her right foot and the back edge of the lightsword heels, poised and ready above her non-dominant side.

The lasers bathe her in icy blue light. Ben feels a thrill as he watches her now in profile, waiting. It’s a variant stance on one Ben knows well, an innovation on the one they share, and Ben senses it’s just as effective. He’s curious to watch her work it as the Trandoshan spreads the leathery pads of its tri-clawed feet shoulder-width apart, and thrusts the Z6 baton in a loading action, readying the mechanism again. Rey rocks on her feet, still waiting.

“That’s a smart move,” Ben whispers to Finn, giving his triceps another gentle stroke with his thumb.

“The sound of those batons, though, when they prep like that,” Finn murmurs. “It still makes my stomach turn...”

“Not hers,” Ben breathes. “See her eyes?”

There’s a glint there, that the beam of light extending horizontally from her strong grip on the hilt is accentuating. Rey wears excitement like a battlesight. Through the bond, Ben can feel the way it sharpens what she sees. It couples with his own emotion, caused by what  _he_ sees; the delicious spectacle of Rey poised on the cusp of a combat before him, and the anticipation is sweeter than the Sunburn in his hand. He can hear his own heart thrum in his chest as the plasma’s reverb thrums there, too.

Ben shifts his hips on the leather. He takes a deep breath and glances down at Finn, still rising and falling with his chest. Ben can feel himself starting to get off on all this. In private, that would be fine. But they’re not in the privacy of the apartment and Finn is virtually in his lap now. Ben takes another deep breath and chases that with a generous mouthful of alcohol as his eyes return to the action in the centre of the arena.

The Trandoshan opens its maw in a roar, rapidly losing patience with its unruffled opponent, as she continues to wait. At last it clambers forward, spinning the baton then double-thrusting straight at Rey’s heart. The action is very poorly concealed though, and the Jedi is too quick. She lowers the leading edge of her blade, intersecting the movement and lifting up the offending weapon to spin her own counterclockwise.

The creature moves to use the effort of her parry to its advantage but fails; the hissing prod instead casually bringing Rey’s hind blade through in the completion of a vertical arc, the tail-end of which catches the forearm of the Trandoshan on its way to the floor. And when it connects, the sounds and smells of sizzling reptilian flesh rent the arena.

 _“Shit,”_ Finn murmurs. “That was  _sweet.”_

Ben drains his glass and sets it back down on the table.

 _“Fuck,_ yes,” he backs.

The Trandoshan whines from the pain of the burn and Rey postures again, this time spinning the blade in a series of helixed arcs across the back of her hand, still watching it closely.

“It’s  _pissed,”_ Finn murmurs.

“No,” Ben frowns. “It’s feeling something else...”

Sudden movement on the left draws their eyes back beyond the arena’s perimeter, to where the bronze-coloured Gank is now standing, and brandishing an electro-whip.

“That allowed?” Finn asks.

“Yes,” Ben says. “Only ranged weapons are banned.”

Rey’s either sensed it, or seen it.

 _Probably both,_ Ben thinks, as he feels several things at once.

Ben senses the Trandoshan’s fear of the whip, and knows that Rey can sense that too, as the creature freezes for a moment on its course for the perimeter, looking to escape her; the source of its most recent pain. But then it changes tack, confronted again by the sight of the bronze-coloured Gank, the one holding the whip, with which it’s been taught to associate the same kind of physical pain Rey has just inflicted.

Ben senses Finn feel it, too, as well as something more that Ben doesn't feel. He can sense in Finn the exact realisation he and Rey have just had, and that Finn’s determinations are based on sight - on what Finn’s observing the Trandoshan do as it hesitates, unsure of whether or not to make for the perimeter or Rey - because in this moment both are equally terrifying options. Ben glances down at him again.

“It’s sad,” Finn breathes.

“What?” Ben mutters.

Finn lifts his head from Ben’s chest. He re-settles it against the high-backed lounge and turns in to face Ben, their foreheads almost touching.

“It’s  _missing_ something,” Finn articulates, as Ben stares into his wide eyes, sensing just for Finn. Wanting to understand because Ben has only sensed its fear.

And then he can see them, inside Finn’s head; the absences. There are very big gaps inside Finn’s head where things he’s yearned for over years just aren’t. Ben blinks, clearing his eyes, because something in Ben is just as sad, then - missing something just as much - and because of that Ben yearns to fix for Finn what he yearns to fix for Rey and also, now, as Ben glances back to the arena, what he realises he yearns to fix for the Trandoshan, too.

Ben touches his forehead to Finn’s.

“When I tell you,” he murmurs, “Get up.”

“What?” 

“Just do it when I say."

Rey’s on the right of the arena, stood in profile to Ben and Finn, and with both the reptilian slave and the bronze-coloured Gank in her line of sight. The thought is on the edge of Ben’s mind as Rey does it; extinguishes her dual-blade, and a murmur traverses the surrounding lounges. Ben senses that even the hostess has taken a quick breath in at this point.

 _“Now,”_ Ben says to Finn.

Rey extends her empty left hand towards the Trandoshan’s Masters as Ben and Finn rise together. Ben’s right hand is poised at the hilt of his own weapon, visible below the black V-neck as he turns to face the bronze-coloured Gank, who’s noticed.

 _I’ve got it,_ Ben thinks through the bond to Rey.  _If you wanna finish that, do it fast._

 _I don’t,_ Rey thinks back.  _It’s done nothing wrong._

Ben and Finn circle the outside of the arena, both still with eyes for Rey. Ben extends his left hand as she extends her free arm to Force-hold the towering fighter, who she’s injured but made the choice not to kill. Ben Force-holds the bronze-coloured Gank as they both close in on their captive quarries.

“You don’t need that,” Ben coaxes the Gank when he reaches it.

Its hand wavers for a moment, and then the sentient coils the length of the whip in a series of loops with its opposite hand, and returns the weapon to a notch at the rear of its cybernetic armour.

“You’re gonna take your fighter home, you’ve had enough,” Ben suggests gently. “And we’re gonna do that, too.”

Ben stares one final time at the mask of the Gank Killer. Then he eyeballs Rey who’s watching the still whimpering Trandoshan walk slowly back to its Masters, the Z6 baton held slack at the end of its uninjured arm. As soon as it crosses the boundary, Rey bolts for the glow of the amber-lit passage to meet Ben and Finn, who are already there.

The three of them ascend the stairs with racing hearts and Ben doesn’t need to affect the Dug at the door this time when they reach it; the sentient lets them go with no questions asked, and they hurry up the dark street beneath a fine rain falling from the polluted sky above them.

“Oh my fucking  _gods,”_ Rey blurts, once they’ve moved well beyond the rusty iron door with the Garu-bear stenciled above it.

“You were amazing,Rey,” Finn gushes. _"Awesome..."_

“I was so  _terrified_ when it walked _out_ there…”

Ben watches them in front of him and smiles, Rey’s jacket and bag nestled in the crook of one of his long arms.

“Did you  _see_ it pull that _whip_ out, though?” she exclaims to Finn, turning now to catch Ben’s eye, too. “That’s  _not allowed,_ right? How could that _possibly_ be allowed? _”_

“That was so great though, how you used the  _Force…”_

“Ben did it, too,” she says, quickly.

For the next few minutes the three of them walk through the drizzle, Rey and Finn picking avidly through the details while Ben listens carefully, smiling at times, and at others even chuckling.

“Next time,” Rey says, as they close in on home, “It would be _really_ hot if _you_ guys fought, and _I_ watched.”

She turns to Ben and gives him a very slow wink.

“Don’t you think?”


	44. Face-sitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 8. Part 5 of 5. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters were written in response to Kinktober 2018 prompts. This one was for Day 1: Face-sitting.
> 
> Just a warning that there are two explicit descriptions of Ben's uncircumcised cock in this chapter. Please feel free to skip ahead if you would prefer not to read about that, however I think foreskins are just good clean fun, so this one's for leoba :)

Rey thought about it quietly for the rest of the journey home. She kept dwelling as she washed with Ben, and as they ate leftovers with Finn from the far recesses of the ‘serva. Even after they said goodnight to Finn, and Ben closed the bedroom door, the tantalising glimpses she stole of the men on the lounge in the fight club were still burning a hole in her mind.

“Alright,” Ben levels, as they remove the last of their clothing, throw it on the floor and slide into bed. “You need to talk about it now, Rey. All that stuff you’ve been thinking about since we were halfway home. Go.”

Rey grins.

“Why?”

“Because clearly it’s bothering you.”

“But I like it bothering me.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because when you’re thinking about  _that,”_ Ben says, nuzzling her, “You’re not talking to me.”

“Do you remember when you used to _hate_ having conversations with me?”

“I have  _always_   _enjoyed_  having conversations with you, thank you very much.”

“No, you haven’t, Ben.”

Rey watches him gnaw softly on his full lower lip.

“Okay, then. Maybe there are one or two times that I can recall when I have  _expressed a_   _preference,”_  he says, and she can tell he’s choosing the words very carefully, “For  _when_  we converse and when we  _don’t_ converse and that is not the same thing as  _hating_  having conversations with you, Rey _.”_

She raises her eyebrows and Ben snorts.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

Rey’s lying above him now, propped on her right forearm with her left knee hooked around his upper left thigh, trailing her hand down slowly from the edge of the old scar at his chest to the top of the dark snail trail of curls, beginning just below his navel. Ben’s fingers caress her jaw, slide beneath her hair and gently coax her mouth to his. She sucks gently at his lower lip, then draws away a little.

“So,” she begins very quietly, whispering this in his ear, “Did you like cuddling with him?”

Ben sighs.

“It wasn’t like that, Rey.”

“What was it like, then?” she asks, smiling and dipping her head to the skin just beneath his jaw.

Ben strokes the back of her neck gently

“I don’t know.”

“You _do,_ Ben, _tell_ me,” she whispers.

“It’s not like what  _you like_ to think it is, Rey…”

“I _saw_ you sitting  _very_ close with him, it looked  _very friendly…”_

“Because we’re  _friends,”_ Ben murmurs, beginning to smile.

Rey nuzzles her way to his mouth and kisses softly at his top lip. Ben’s eyes hood as she watches him watch her lips while they suck softly at him again. Her tongue slides just inside his mouth and meets the tip of his tongue.

Her hand is still stroking lazily up and down his abdomen. She pauses at his right pec, shifts her hips further to the left and straddles him while still licking the tip of his tongue with her own. Ben’s chest begins to rise higher as the depths of his breaths increase. Rey wriggles back a little, her spread thighs coming to rest over his groin.

“By the way, these are overdue to come out, Ben,” she says, frowning down at the stitches in his right flank.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, gazing up at her.

Ben curves his palms around her bare hips and holds her gently above his body. She leans forward, to find his mouth, then opens her lips around him in the beginnings of a slow, deep kiss.

 _Don’t you ever wonder more about it, though?_ she thinks through the bond, as his hands begin to fit themselves comfortably around her body while they kiss.

 _Wonder more about what?_ he thinks back.

She draws her mouth away a little, still nuzzling.

“You know what,” she breathes, smiling. “What it would be  _like…”_

Rey brushes her lips across Ben’s cheek, and begins a soft grind down against his pelvis.

“He _likes_  you,” she coaxes.

“He likes... touching,” Ben sighs.

 _Oh, yes, finally,_ Rey can't help but think triumphantly to herself.

 _“Touching?”_ she grins, “Touching  _what?”_

“Just... _touching,”_ Ben breathes, still smiling. “But it’s _not_ like what you’re thinking, Rey.”

“What am I thinking?” she asks slyly, still grinding against Ben’s cock, and kissing now at his neck too, just like he does to her.

Ben lifts his chin, giving her further access to the sensitive skin at the base of his neck, and further up as well, behind his ear. As she grinds she feels him start to grow beneath her, and he sighs again.

_I still know what you’re thinking._

_You’re thinking it, too, Ben, admit it._

_I like being close to him._

“You like  _touching_  him,” Rey breathes.

“Yes,” Ben whisperss back. “But only just a little, in certain places.”

“It doesn’t mean you want to  _be_ with him,” Rey says softly, drawing her face out from his neck and beginning to brush her nose lightly against his cheek this time.

“That’s right,” Ben murmurs. “I want to be with  _you…”_

She kisses his upper lip, lingering against the texture of his mouthbrow.

“I want to be with you too, Ben,” she whispers, her breath getting heavy. “And _you_ want to touch Finn. Only just a little, and only in certain places.”

"Sometimes," he exhales, slowly. _Yes._

“And you like me  _talking_ about you touching Finn, only just a little, and only in certain places.”

"Yes," Ben huffs this time.

They're both breathing heavy now.

“Rey?”

“Ben?”

 _Sit on my face,_ he thinks through the bond.

“Say  _please,_ Ben,” she whispers as she grinds again, feeling the muscles in her cunt start to ache at the suggestion he’s just made.

“Please,” he whispers back.  _“Mistress.”_

Rey begins to shift her knees up his body.

“Wait,” Ben says quickly. “Turn around first.”

She grins and turns so now she faces his feet. Rey has a nice view of his cock from here, stiff but not yet hard from the casual rub her cunt’s been giving it as they’ve talked, the head still mostly hidden beneath his foreskin, yet to acquire its full blush, although she can see its starting. Ben's hands pull her back by the hips and she leans forward on her knees. She hooks them around his elbows and wriggles her hips down towards his face.

Ben’s tongue extends to meet her folds. She can feel it searching for her as she lowers herself further, and then it's exploring as she hovers just above him. Rey gasps a little when she feels the first warm lick it gives. His hands pull her back a little more, and she leans over again, sliding her palms down the hard contours of his abdomen. He shifts her cunt above his mouth and then she sits down on him, exploring the way that feels.

The tip of Ben’s nose nestles between her cheeks as his tongue pushes its way inside her entrance for the first time. He works his thumbs beneath her upper thighs, lifting her arse up. Then she feels the tip of his tongue search for her clit, and she settles back again on his face in response, her palms still pressed flat to his abs; sliding them down to either side of his pelvis as she watches the pink head of his now rigid cock exude a single bead of precum that she finds herself fascinated by, and then entirely drawn towards as Rey’s mouth opens.

Ben pulls her back for a third time. She hears him moan beneath her, and she moans too as he starts to suck at her clit. She can feel her inner muscles clench. One of his hands shifts from her hips, but Rey hardly notices. Her eyes are locked on his flushed glans, and with the tip of her tongue she laps up the pearlescent drop she's been watching, tasting the umami flavour of his body and feeling the firm bell of his cock spring away. Fascinated by the way he springs away from her there like that, as she licks again and again with the tip of her tongue. Mesmerised.

The moaning he’s making beneath her is creating a thrum against her clit that deepens her breathing. It makes her shudder and want to wriggle down further against Ben’s face. Collapse onto his face. Rey feels him shift his tongue back to her entrance, and although it’s not as intense she knows he’s inside her, and that  _is_ intense. His tongue is inside her and his open mouth is kneading its way around her entrance.

She imagines Ben swallowing the wetness she can feel her body making in response to all the kneading, as she closes her mouth around the head of his thick shaft. He moans again. Rey opens wider, and takes in more of his length, and Ben thrusts up into her mouth as she feels something of his at the rim of her anus, kneading around her there as his lips and tongue continue to knead their way around her cunt.

Rey can’t think any more as she feels him press into her anus. His entry feels smooth, slickened by his mouth and probably also the cream of her cunt. She can't tell for sure, and she doesn't really care. She just knows it’s smooth. Her eyes can’t decide whether or not to open or close. She wants them open. She wants to see the view she has now of his balls as she fills her mouth with his cock, while between her legs his mouth shifts back to her clit and his tongue circles again. As he sucks at her, with his thumb in her arse she deepthroats Ben, moaning from the back of her throat as his own sounds thrum again against her clit. She presses down hard against his face, and grinds.

Her climax starts to build. Rey runs her lips rapidly up his cock and gasps for oxygen as she feels her muscles twitch and spasm. Ben’s pulling her down hard against his mouth, his thumb still pressed into her anus, moving just enough to enhance the pulsing that’s so strong now she can feel her arms begin to collapse beneath her.

She huffs as she comes above Ben’s face, his tongue still working hard against her clit right up until the moment she feels the warmth of her orgasm flood her. She drops forward in that instant and pushes out as he slides his broadest digit very slowly from her soft arsehole. Then he moves her forwards, very gently away from the throne of his face.

Rey crawls forwards, over the bedding on her knees, turning her head to look at Ben over her shoulder as he clambers up off his back. On his knees now, he presses one flattened palm between her shoulder blades, pinning her there as she glimpses his other hand wrap firm around his wet, swollen length, wet and swollen from her mouth. She watches him start to tug his own length, pulling his foreskin back and forth, kind of slow at first and then it's a frenzied pace, and she's listening to the wet slap his hand makes every time it changes direction on each sweet pull.

Ben’s jaw is tense but his mouth is open, and his eyes hood so much they’re almost slits. But they don’t leave Rey’s. She holds his gaze. And while he comes he holds the ripened head of his cock against her rump and she feels his spend land across her, and the heat of it - and the heat of her body - makes it spread like butter across the surfaces of her, like she's hot toast.

 _“Rey,”_ he breathes, leaning forwards against her cum-soaked buttocks, and pressing her down hard to the bedding beneath them.

She lets Ben hold her there, belly-down for several minutes against the bed, listening as he attempts to catch his breath. It takes time. But after awhile she wriggles around to face him, still above her. His cheeks are flushed and his face is covered in the liquor of her pussy. It's all caught up in his mouthbrow, and the muzzle around and beneath his chin.

“Oh  _my,”_  she purrs, smiling.

Rey kisses and licks at Ben’s face, cleaning all over, including across his plush lower lip, the tip of his very long nose, and across the contours of his cheeks. On one of them it’s up past his cheekbone.

She washes his face and whiskers with her tongue like a cat, lapping.

“You need another shower,” she murmurs, between licks.

“Mm,” he breathes, smiling too, as he rolls to his back, and brings her with him.


	45. Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 9. Part 1 of 3. Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to the ‘Medical Play’ prompt for Day 2 of Kinktober 2018. Intimate, not smutty, reference to the kink is at the end. Hope you enjoy it!

“Stop it, Ben,” Finn says.

Rey thumps Ben hard in the kidneys on her way through to the kitchenette.

 _“Ow,”_  he grumbles, reaching around and rubbing at his lower back.

“Quit scratching then,” she clips, opening the ‘serva and removing an armful of ingredients. “I’m fed up with it too.”

“But they’re itchy as fuck,” he grumbles.

“They need to come out,” Rey says.  _“Before_ we go out, I’m not putting up with  _that_ for the whole night. And…”

Ben and Finn are sitting at the island bench that divides the lounge room from the kitchenette, sipping cups of caf that Rey’s just poured them from the stovetop percolator.

 _“...Especially_ if you guys wanna fight tonight, because you can’t fight with stitches, you’ll pop them.”

“You know, Rey, for someone who’s never known who her…”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Ben,” she warns, pointing a spatula at him.  _“Do not.”_

“Listen,” Finn mutters, side-eyeing Ben. “If you've got stitches, then you must have a med droid around here somewhere, right? If you tell me where it is, I’ll go get it.”

He’s finished rubbing at the spot where Rey just thumped him and now Ben’s attempting to sneak his hand back beneath the black V-neck, and resume scratching the sutures in his abdomen. Finn reaches for Ben’s wrist, circles it with his forefinger and thumb, and coaxes the offending hand away. Ben huffs and shifts his weight on the stool, but Finn can definitely feel Ben’s arm give itself to Finn’s hand, although when Finn glances again at Ben, his eyes have narrowed.

“Don’t you look at me like that, you  _know_ I’m only trying to help you,” Finn says. “You should be grateful  _I’m_ not thumping your kidneys, too.  _Or_ taking pot-shots at your parents.”

Ben drains his cup of caf, pushes himself away from the bench and stands.

“Fine, I’ll get it,” he mumbles.

Finn smiles as he watches Ben disappear into the lounge room. He takes another sip of caf as rummaging sounds emerge from the tiny hallway just outside the bathroom.

“I didn’t even know you  _had_ droids here,” he says to Rey, watching her inspecting the shell of a gartro egg that she’s about to break into a pan, warming on the stovetop.

“Wish we had a cooking one,” she grumbles, frowning down at the egg.

“You do, his name’s  _Ben,”_  Finn quips.

Rey grins and offers him the egg.

“I can never do this without getting shell in as well,” she admits. “Here,  _impress_ the cooking droid then with your  _amazing_ abilities to crack this. Please?”

“There’s a knack to it, that’s all,” Finn says, getting up off the stool and walking to the stove.

He collects the egg, positions his hand and gives it a sharp rap on the pan’s edge. With one hand he opens the divided shell with his thumb, just enough to release the liquid yolk and white, and it hits the cast iron surface with a satisfying sizzle.

“Mm,” Rey smiles, as Finn breaks another five eggs into the pan.

Rey kisses his cheek in gratitude.

“I’ll tell him  _you_ did that,” she says.

Finn grins. They both look up as they hear Ben curse from the hallway.

“I’ll go,” he offers, and Rey’s smile broadens as she picks up the spatula and eyes the frying eggs hungrily.

Finn wanders out of the kitchenette to find Ben sitting in the hallway just outside the bathroom, with his knees spread wide and the splayed med droid on the floor between them. Half the multiceps are detached from the unit, and Ben is holding one of them up to the light above him, inspecting it. Ben glances at Finn, who wrinkles his nose.

 _“That’s_ your med droid?”

Ben huffs.

“It’s a piece of shit.”

“Why don’t you have something  _good?”_ Finn asks. “That’s circa Galactic  _Civil_ War, that is.”

Ben grins up at him.

 _“Clone_ Wars.”

Finn snorts.

“You should’ve taken one of those fancy First Order things… what was it a… IT-S… something?”

“IT-S00.2,” Ben recites, kicking the unit with his foot. “It was working fine when we first got here but honestly it’s just another piece of junk on a moon full of  _garbage...”_

“You don’t really need it,” Finn says, placatingly. “I mean, all you need’s the blades, right?”

Ben looks up. In his eyes, Finn sees a few things and one of them is frustration, but the other thing he thinks he recognises then in Ben is nerves.

“I can help you,” Finn murmurs. “If you’re worried about doing it yourself... Is that why you’re so pissed off at it? Because you’ll have to do it yourself now? And you’re worried about that? Or something?”

The eyes widen as Finn stares a little longer. It  _is_ nerves, he thinks. Ben seems almost squeamish.

“Bring a pair of the ‘ceps,” Finn says, gently. “You got any stim-shots? One of those would take the edge off your nerves, maybe?”

Ben continues staring mutely up at Finn.

“Man,” Finn sighs. “I need you to use  _words_ now, Ben...”

“There are shots in the bedroom,” he mutters, turning his gaze back to the droid. “There’s a side table in there. Top drawer.”

“Okay,” Finn says.

He’s only ever been inside their bedroom once before, when he helped Ben dress that time. Ben had been just as worried then as he seems now, Finn thinks, as he crosses around to the far side of the sizeable, neatly-made bed and opens the top drawer in the small table beside it.

Ben does seem to worry  _a lot,_ about a lot of things. Is that why Finn enjoys being around him as much as he does? Do Ben’s apparent anxieties somehow lessen his own? Or do they make him feel less like it’s somehow  _bad_ to worry, or to dwell on things? Things like Rose? Where she is...? How she is...?

Finn tries and fails to overlook the tube of lube and the cum rag in the drawer as he searches for the small cylindrical form of the shot. Eventually his hand feels the familiarly smooth casing of the adrenaline injector, and he lifts it from the drawer as Ben wanders in with the ‘ceps.

“Sit there,” Finn says. “Take your shirt off.”

Finn’s seen this several times before now, but it doesn’t change the way his stomach still flips a little at the sight of the mammoth frame on Ben. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” he exhales, as he sits down on Ben’s right.  _I can do this._

The wound is around navel height. The waistband on Ben’s jeans sits just below it. Finn’s grateful for that, because he doesn’t think he has the balls to ask Ben to undo his pants. It’s enough to ask him to do this:

“I need to sort of... be in your lap. Can you lean back a little?”

He nods at Ben’s waist. Ben shifts his right arm behind Finn, and his hand comes to rest on the surface of the bedding; Ben is twisted towards him now.

“Okay,” Finn sighs again, leaning down and in, and then pausing and looking up. “You wanna do the shot? Or you want me to do it for you?”

“Can you do it, please?” Ben asks, looking down so his worried eyes can find Finn’s.

“Sure,” Finn answers, unsleeving the shot. “I think I’m gonna put this straight in your side. It’ll work on you faster that way.”

Their eyes meet again.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Ben murmurs.

Finn removes the cap at the top of the shot. Then he takes another deep breath and places his left hand on Ben’s upper ribcage, just beneath the pit of his arm. Finn brings the shot closer and leans in further as Ben sits back just a little more, giving him just a little more access to his lap.

“Hang on,” Finn breathes, adjusting the position of his hand on the side of Ben’s chest, shifting it lower, beneath his capacious pec.

That muscle exists, in this scenario, in such stark contrast to how Ben himself exists in it now. The warrior’s body encasing Ben is prone. Finn can feel the beat of Ben’s heart beneath his palm. He can feel the inner workings, the mechanisms, supporting the chiseled flesh of Ben. And Finn can still feel, in the rhythm of the pulse beneath his hand, that it’s still nervous. He’s a nervous patient now.

“Lean against me for a second, Ben...”

Finn feels him push against his hand. Then Finn grips the shot and thrusts the needle end into Ben's side. There's a quick click and the faintest tremor runs its way through his body, and feeling it Finn glances up to find Ben looking back at him, eyes wide and lips parted, the lower one aquiver.

“You okay?” Finn asks.

Ben frowns, brings his lips together and gives a faint nod.

“Okay,” Finn says quietly, jutting his chin in the direction of Ben’s left hand, which still holds the pair of ‘ceps. “Pass me those?”

Their fingers touch briefly as Ben passes the surgical blades to Finn. His fingers take a moment to grip them. Ben’s fingers are warm and surprisingly soft. Finn’s noticed that before. He eyes those fingers. They are long and fine. The body has worked, but the fingers belie that. Finn takes a moment just to look at the way their hands meet, the differences between them as well as what’s the same. Ben’s hand remains paused. He waits for Finn to take the blades to his body, trusting him enough to do that. Finn blinks at the realization.

“Finn?” Ben murmurs.

Finn exhales a breath he only now realises he’s held since their fingers made contact.

“What?”

“You got the ‘ceps?”

“Oh, yeah,” Finn murmurs back, his head still close to Ben’s chest, grateful his face is hidden in his lap, because it’s probably burning. The corners of his eyes certainly are. “Got ‘em.”

Finn starts to gently snip at the mechnosutures.

“Wow these things are  _fine…,”_ he mutters, leaning in further as he feels Ben shift again.

Ben has stretched and curved his spine leftwards now, arcing it so the sutured flank is proffered towards Finn, who has his head tilted to one side. His left hand shifts down from Ben’s upper chest to his abdomen. He spreads his palm wide so the pads of his fingers anchor above the place he’s snipping, and his thumb can support them from below.

Finn slowly snips, and Ben’s diaphragm rises and falls beneath his hand. Sometimes the breaths are sharp, as though Ben’s trying to keep still. But maybe it’s just the result of nerves. Of breaths he’s trying to control. Maybe he’s holding breaths on purpose because maybe, like Finn had been earlier, he’s unaware he’s so tense.

“You okay?” Finn asks, without looking up.

“Yes,” Ben murmurs.

“This isn’t freaking you out?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, you’re really gentle. Much gentler than a droid,” he says, as Finn finishes the last of the snips, shifts his hand and brushes gently over the soft pink scar he’s just unearthed on the right side of Ben’s flank, about the size of his thumbnail. “Wonder if you’ll have to do  _this_ for your kid one day?”

Finn pauses.

 _Shit,_ he thinks to himself.

“Sorry,” Ben murmurs.

“It’s okay,” Finn breathes, brushing away more stray sutures from around Ben's fresh scar.

Finn looks up.

“You think I will?” he asks, quietly.

“Well, maybe, I guess,” Ben sighs. “I mean, I think I did some pretty fucked up shit when I was little. I think I needed stitches like a whole bunch of times, but... for some reason I don't recall people patching me up, just droids...”

“They  _must_ have,” Finn murmurs, gazing at Ben. "When you were really, really small or something, they  _must_  have..."

“Yeah,” Ben says, frowning. “Maybe they did and I've just forgotten... Maybe it's just become lost...”

Finn brushes again across Ben's belly. 

“Finn?”

"Yeah?"

"You'll be a good dad," Ben whispers.

Finn stares down at the 'ceps in his hand and very carefully he begins to flick suture debris away from one blade.

"And I won't forget this, Finn."

Finn looks up, and their eyes meet again.

“You know," Ben adds, with a lopsided smile, "You make a pretty good nurse.”

When his left eye twitches just a little, in the very faintest hint of a wink, Finn returns the wry smile slowly.

“If you two are  _quite_ done playing doctors and nurses in here..."

Rey sticks her head into the bedroom.

"...Your breakfasts are ready now," she says, grinning.


	46. Something Edged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 9. Part 2 of 3. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to ‘Knife Play’ for Day 3 of Kinktober 2018. 
> 
> I mean, it's *knife play*, so this is not gonna be for everyone, so feel free to skip this one if you don't think it's for you. 
> 
> I have tried to make it gentle and to keep it pretty soft, and to make the consent as explicit as I can. Also keep Ben very soft with Finn. So I hope that comes through. There's no cutting and no gore.

They eat breakfast and kit themselves out in the same gear as last night. They  _are_ fetish fighting this evening, Ben is resolute. Rey has expressed in no uncertain terms her unwillingness to participate in another public arena fight, at least not for the time being, so it will very likely be only he and Finn who’ll play tonight. Rey still just wants to watch.

The Dug lets them through the club’s rusty iron door when they reach it, and they descend the sinistral concrete staircase. Rey pays the Twi’lek slave the entrance fee and the three of them pass along the amber-lit passageway, until they reach the hostess, stationed at the mouth of the main arena room.

“Welcome back,” she purrs.

“Show us to a private room,” Ben says, while Rey offers her a fistful of credits and she accepts them. “Organise one… no, two pitchers of Sunburn, and we’ll need those early. And after that we won’t be disturbed until we leave.”

“Yes, sir,” she purrs again, nodding her beautifully decorated head in assent. “Will you require weaponry?”

Ben turns to Finn. They talked this through a little on the way. Finn gives him a faint nod.

“Something edged,” Ben says.

The hostess gives them both a knowing smile, bows her head again, then she brushes herself very slowly past Ben, to both Rey and Finn’s poorly-concealed ire, and shows them to the third unmarked door on the right. She places her palm to a pad on the left of the door and it slides open with a soft hydraulic hiss. The Twi’lek nods for a third time to Ben as he, Rey and Finn enter the private room, and the door closes behind them.

The room is small and intimate. There are no external windows but expansive translucent screens allow pearlescent white light to pass through on all sides barr the floor, which is made from the dark wood of the slow-growing Veshok tree. Ben knows because he can smell the Jekka seed oil used to finish and enhance it. He remembers it.

“This room is beautiful,” Rey murmurs.

“Designed to promote immersion,” he offers. “Take a seat.”

He indicates one of the low padded benches and watches Rey run a hand over the smooth wood of its frame.

“No nicks,” Rey murmurs. ”It’s so  _pristine_ for a room where people  _fight...”_

“It’s a room for pleasure, not violence,” Ben explains, enjoying the feeling of teaching her something. “Fear, maybe, but controlled, so no one feels unsafe unless they want to. This is not the same thing as a training room. It’s very different.”

Her eyes have widened. She looks at him in a way he hasn’t seen for some time, and Ben feels a thrill go through him as he removes his V-neck and begins to stretch his long limbs while she watches.

“You sure you won’t fight me?” he asks, reaching for the lightsaber fastened to his belt.

He watches a very slow smile creep its way across her face as her gaze travels down him appreciatively. Then she returns her eyes to his and he watches her mouth.

“Maybe later,” he hears her say, softly. “If I don’t get too drunk on Sunburn first.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, gripping and re-gripping the hilt of his saber.

“I know,” she smiles back.

Ben turns his attention now to Finn who’s crouched, touching fingertips to the boards of hardwood that cover the floor and line the luminous panels around and above them. When he stands, Finn places flattened palms to his own body-gloved pecs and rubs his torso down from there, to his lower abs, and back again.

“You’re wearing too much, Finn, did you know?” Rey calls across the space, smirking up at Ben.

He glances down at her. His mind must have wondered and she’s voiced it. Another thrill goes through him. It’s nice to have her here, to say the things he’d never dare.

“To be honest,” Finn says, “I was kind of wondering about that…”

“You can roll that down,” Ben invites, igniting the blade of his weapon and inspecting its flaring edges. “But only if you want to, you don’t have to...”

“Or we could play for it,” Finn adds, grinning. “Equity in coverage.”

Ben extinguishes the weapon and hurls it at Finn, who snorts.

“Honestly, the two of you are the biggest pair of shameless flirts,” Rey says, as they hear the faint sounds of knocking on wood.

 _Don’t pretend you don’t like it,_ Ben thinks through the bond as he makes his way to the door.

 _You know I’m not pretending, Ben,_ she thinks back, and his smile broadens as he moves aside to let one of the two Twi’leks who’ve arrived carry drinks through to Rey on the bench.

The second Twi’lek passes him a vibro-arbir blade. The crimson catches his gaze, but it's the blue glint of the twin precision knives at either end of the shaft that catch his breath. He glances at Rey, sensing it affect her too. As the Twi’leks leave the room, Ben continues to study the high-tech melee weapon in his hands for several more moments before turning in approach of Finn.

“So,” he begins, “We’re not  _really_ fighting, you know that, right?”

Finn nods, and although he’s smiling Ben knows he’s nervous. He can feel that emotion in Finn, even though he holds the assurance of a weapon far superior to the edged one Ben holds now.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ben assures. “You know that too, don’t you?”

When Finn inclines his head again, in another gesture of awareness, Ben begins to flex the joined blades with his dominant hand from their centre in a series of deft, helix-shaped arcs through the air at his right side. Finn still feels nervous. Ben ceases his own maneuvering, lowers the joined blades and walks towards him. Then he stops, rethinks it, and takes a sequence of wide steps backwards.

“Test that,” Ben suggests, nodding at the saber in Finn’s hands. “Test its weight.”

Finn holds the hilt in two hands, and raises those above his right shoulder like a baseball bat. Then he activates the blade and Ben grimaces; he looks like a stormtrooper. Finn is  _not_ a stormtrooper and Ben is not in the mood to play with one. Ben is in the mood to play with  _Finn._ This will require a little pre-work.

“Just... swing that for a minute,” Ben says to Finn. “Just swing the shit out of it, okay? You’re nervous... Swing the blade around, it won’t hurt you… Get the nerves out.”

Ben watches him maneuver the ragged edges of red light through the air. He recognises the sequence of movements as sparring drills, a rudimentary set of mind-numbingly dull positions drummed into bucketheads during hand-to-hand combat training.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Just keep swinging, get it out. Forget about all that routine shit they taught you, and just find what feels good...”

Ben watches Finn gradually begin to repeat a maneuver. Just one maneuver. Does he just enjoy that one, single maneuver?

“That’s it,” Ben coaxes. “Tell me why you’re doing that.”

“I don’t know,” Finn responds, still performing the same maneuver.

“Yes, you do,” Ben returns. “You do know why you’re doing that, think about it.”

“It feels good,” Finn huffs.

Ben splits the vibro-blades, bringing one of them up to the height of his shoulder - the one in his non-dominant hand - to meet the saber’s blade and it connects. Finn ripostes and Ben shifts his feet in response, bringing the knife in his dominant hand around to connect with the lightsword again. Then he reaches around with his left hand and wraps his forearm around Finn’s neck, and the thrill returns.

“You go slack when you need to stop,” Ben whispers into his ear. “Okay? Then I will never be able to hurt you.”

Ben holds Finn there for a moment.

“I need you to say that you understand that,” he whispers again, not enjoying the feeling of holding the blade's edge to Finn’s skin nearly as much as he's enjoying everything else they're doing now.

Finn has gone silent, and Ben knows it's because the same thrill is running its way through him, too, and after several more moments pass just like this between them, Finn answers.

“I understand,” he breathes back, and Ben releases him and they step away from each other.


	47. No Reverberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 9. Part 3 of 3. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to the ‘Dacryphilia’ prompt for Day 4 of Kinktober 2018, and a little bit more ‘Knife Play’.
> 
> I tried to make this about a sensual dom letting their sub feel safe enough to cry. But in truth I think Ben, Rey and Finn all get something out of this and that’s a feature of the kink; it seems to be really expansive and not that clear-cut about how it works on people in terms of sexual gratification.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one. Rey gets pretty pickled.

Rey drains her third glass of Sunburn, humming to herself as she pours her fourth. She’s just so damn pleased. She takes another long sip, sets the drink down on the hardwood floor and elevates her feet to the far side of the bench.

Reclining, she turns to watch Ben rejoin the twin vibro blades, while she licks at the saccharine remnants of Sunburn that linger at the edges of her lips. Closing her eyes briefly, Rey inhales the lightly spiced scent of Jekka seed oil that occasionally makes its way from the wood in the room to her nose and lungs.

After several minutes, maybe longer, she’s not quite sure, she finds the impulse to return to the visual world, and her very merry gaze is met by the image of Finn, lowering his chin. Ben rushes him, arcing the joined blades again and thrusting the leading knife upwards. Finn parries with the saber to block him, and the two men hold each other there.

“Feels nice,” Rey hears Ben whisper to Finn.

“Yeah,” Finn breathes.

The sounds they make carry across the sealed room, but somehow none of them echo. Rey notices how something about this space takes off the sharpest edges of the vibrations that pass through her ossicles to her eardrum. There’s no reverberation. The sounds exist once and then they stop. Sounds like the ones their thighs make when Ben’s brush Finn’s as their lower bodies connect.

“You going slack?” she hears Ben say through her dreamy fog as she turns her gaze to the roof above them.

Sounds like the ones their boots make when they move their feet across the Veshok floor - the way the soles of their boots shift on the floor.

“No way,” she hears Finn say. “You did  _not_ win that.”

Sounds like the ones their upper bodies make when Ben holds Finn for what must now be the fifth or sixth time, Rey’s lost count.

“I could cut it off you,” she hears Ben whisper. “If you’d prefer.”

Rey crunches up off the bench and rolls onto her belly, crossing her ankles then lifting them into the air. Reaching down beneath the long padded seat, collecting the glass from beneath it, she brings her drink to her lips again and takes a cursory sip, and then another before she tilts both her head and gaze towards them once more. They’re very close now. Ben is holding one of the separated blades to Finn’s chest.

“Not if you don’t want me to, though... I’ll buy you another one, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rey drops her head to the bench, touching her forehead to the leather and nuzzling at it.

“You can do it if you want... You’ve got a whole wardrobe of replacement clothes for me, I’ve seen them.”

Smiling into the padded leather, still holding the drink aloft in her hand, still listening.

“Cuts like butter.”

Rey raises her head to see Ben and Finn work the slashed edges of Finn’s body glove over his muscled shoulders.

 _Holy shit,_ Rey thinks, hypnotised.

“Let’s go again,” Ben mutters, now that Finn’s torso is as bare as his own. “You ready?”

They step back. This time Ben waits for Finn to lead. Somewhere along the way, Finn has altered his stance. Has Ben shown him that, and she’s missed it? Did it happen while she was draining the last of the first pitcher of Sunburn? Finn raises the hilt of the saber with one hand, holding its length down his line of sight. He repositions his feet and feints left, but Ben appears to read it.

Rey lowers her head to her forearms, her lids growing heavy. Somehow the glass in her hand finds the floor while she watches Ben mirror then sense Finn’s urge in a mimic of his movement. Ben connects again with the knife as the blade of the saber backhands to Ben’s right side. Rey watches them hold each other again until Ben goes slack.

“Swap,” she hears him murmur, “Just for a minute.”

Through half-closed eyes she watches Finn deactivate and flip the hilt around, offering it to Ben. He accepts it in his left hand while passing the knives across to Finn.

“Keep them separated,” Ben instructs.

Rey allows her lids to close for a moment, thinking about that. Crinkling her brow a little and trying to grasp a hold on the thought, but it’s slipping. She wants that thought, but she wants many things now, like to slip away with the thing that’s nudging at the edges of her mind. Wanting her to follow it.

One of Ben’s boots squeaks. The pearlescent white light of the room returns and hues of magenta are flashing across the oiled surfaces of the boards of the floor in front of her. The scent of the wood and the oil. The smell of Ben’s sweat. Another creak of leather. She lifts her gaze with an effort.

His enormous frame is rushing at Finn again, swinging from his left with the flaring blade of the saber. Finn blocks the movement with a backhand stab from his left knife. Repeating Ben’s earlier hold, Finn draws his forearm around Ben’s neck and he collapses against Finn, two pairs of knees sinking. He holds Ben there and through the bond Rey feels something change. Something in the way Ben’s feeling.

“You  _wanted_ that,” Finn murmurs.

She can’t see them from here, just the bare back of Finn, still faintly marked by the long scar Ben gave him. She’d like to focus on that, but her eyes have ideas of their own now, and it’s an effort. Focusing. In this state she tries to sense for Ben, for a clearer awareness of what it is he feels now. Not only pleasure but something else, too. Maybe it’s a thing like nostalgia.

She can smell men.  _These_ men, the scent of  _their_ bodies, slick with sweat. Sweet and camphorous, and those aromas mingle with the spice from the wood and the Jekka seed oil. The rich and almost bitter warmth from the treated leather of the padded bench beneath her. There’s a faint trace of Rey, too, of the trillium still in her hair, and there’s the sweetness from the empty glass on the floor and the residual sugar still around her mouth. She lets her tongue rim it, tasting it again.

“Hold it there,” she hears Ben whisper.

Now Rey knows what the feeling is.

“It’s okay,” she hears Finn whisper back. “You’re safe enough now to do that here…”

Rearranging herself on her belly on the bench, shifting her forearms below her left temple, Rey’s sleepy eyes close while Ben releases silent tears in Finn’s arms. And she’s glad she can’t see it. She doesn’t need to, anyway. Because it’s not for her, that vulnerability. It’s for Ben and for Finn.

And even now, Rey is not quite sure for how long she slept on the bench that night in the club as Ben cried with Finn’s knife to his throat. She's never needed the details and they've never needed to tell them. Or maybe they did say some things that night on the way home, but all she remembers now is the walking. The cool air on her skin. The urgent need to piss. Finn stroking at her hand as he held it, and Ben holding her close, leaving kisses in her hair, and still smelling of Finn and the Jekka seed oil.


	48. Beautiful Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 10. Part 1 of 1. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to the ‘Sadism/Masochism’ prompt for Day 5 of Kinktober 2018.
> 
> Explicit description of uncircumcised Ben in this chapter. Please feel free to skip this one if you don't like reading in that much detail about cocks.

Finn has gone out to buy groceries, and a new body glove, and so now Ben is looking down at the beautiful mess again, still dead to the galaxy; blotchy-cheeked with stringy hair caught at the edges of her mouth, and a drool puddle beneath the corner closest to the pillow.

He tucks the bedding around Rey again then leaves the bedroom, padding naked across the floor until he reaches the sofa. Ben shifts the surepp blanket, lifts the lid on the storage compartment beneath the chaise and searches until he finds the small thing he’s been thinking about since he first woke not long ago. He walks it back to the bedroom. Rey is awake now.

Ben sits down on the bed, swings his ankles up towards her and lies down on his back above the bedclothes, so his upper body rests at the bed’s foot. They’re top-and-tailing. He stretches out and plays with the strap on the soft, black satin blindfold.

It’s been a little under a week since they first tried using this. It was the night Finn arrived. Rey had slid the blindfold over Ben’s eyes and he’d panicked, and he still doesn’t understand why. Last night he’d let a man hold a knife to his throat - for fuck's sake he'd got off on that - and yet he can’t even wear a fucking blindfold. What the fuck is with  _that?_

“Mistress?”

Ben glances across the bed at her. She’s rolled over to face his toes. Her cheeks and forehead and lips are all pale and peaky.

“Put it on,” Rey whispers. “Kylo.”

“I can’t,” Ben whispers back.

Rey creeps across the rumpled bedclothes. She lies down on her belly and tucks her palms beneath her chin, tilting her face towards him. Analyzing Ben. Smiling faintly at him, hair still so tangled. Still in a beautiful mess.

Ben extends his hand and notes how she lets him brush his fingers against her for a moment before accepting the blindfold he’s silently pleading with her to take now.

Rey lifts herself up, slowly arriving on her knees. Accepting his offering as she works her way in between his thighs, which he shifts in order to accommodate for her as she strokes his chest with the benign garment that is actually not benign at all.

“Does this feel nice?” she asks. “Kylo?”

“Yes,” he breathes, watching her warily. “Mistress.”

Rey moves a knee either side of his abdomen, settling herself down across his bare cock. Ben exhales when she leans forwards as her shifting body creates just a hint of friction against his pelvis. And then she’s reaching further and slipping the soft satin of the blindfold over his eyes.

“Are you okay, Ben?” he hears her ask through the darkness.

“So far,” he whispers. “Mistress.”

Ben likes this game. Their little role-play. He likes for Rey to dominate him. Is  _that_ what this is all about? This thing he seems to have with the blindfold? Is he afraid to be  _that_  submissive? Because he already knows he's almost always submissive around Rey. For fuck's sake, he's submissive around  _Finn._

But is he afraid to be powerless, too? To relinquish  _all_  control, even though he likes to let go of most of it, under certain conditions. He’s been in control, but always, somehow, he’s still been controlled. That’s a paradox, isn’t it? It’s fucking ridiculous, too, because he’s actively sought to lead things in the past - he’s been raised, however poorly, by a fucking leader - and yet he can’t  _dominate._ Maybe that’s because he doesn’t like to...

“Kylo?”

Ben breathes out. He knows where she is. He can feel and smell and hear and sense her, but it isn’t the same without his  _sight._ It’s not okay without his sight. For some reason, when the visual safeties are gone, even when all the other constants are still there, he feels the nerves and the panic, even after only moments of darkness.

“Do you want to stop, Ben?”

He exhales again.

_No, Mistress._

Ben can hear his own breath now. He can feel his chest. He’s very aware of his chest all of a sudden, rising and falling, and he’s very aware of her palms, stroking lightly up and down his chest.

“You’re getting  _hard,”_ Rey’s voice says in the darkness around him. “Kylo.”

Ben breathes out and tips his head back. He can feel that, too. His arousal at his own sudden loss of power.

He wants to shift his hips and make his cock comfortable. It’s pressing uncomfortably against Rey. At the very least he wants to rub it against her, against the outside of her, control that. But that’s not what this is about, this game.

“Don’t move it,” she murmurs. “Kylo.”

“I won’t,” Ben breathes, although the discomfort is building, threatening to overtake the discomfort of the darkness, and the loss of control. “I won’t move it, Mistress.”

Ben wants to feel the length of himself. And then he wants to feel something wrap its way around that. He’d like it very much to be her mouth.

“You have to  _earn_ that privilege, Kylo,” she whispers, from somewhere near his ear now, she must be leaning forwards.

Then she lifts her hips away.

 _Fuck,_ Ben thinks, feeling the corners of his mouth begin to twitch in the beginnings of a smile - he's relaxing - as the length of his cock at last finds the room it’s been yearning, and it feels good because his nerves are fading.

And then the head of it is so warm he can’t help but thrust his hips up hard to meet the source of it, as it moves along his shaft. Rey’s mouth. Her tongue pressing down firm against his glans, and licking. An intense pressure around the girth of his length increasing, and she’s shifting that pressure along him.

_“Fuck, Rey...”_

And then she’s taking it away.

“Oh,  _don’t...”_ he pleads. 

“Well, what the fuck was that, Kylo?” he hears her tease from somewhere beyond him.

“What the fuck was  _what?”_

“Say it.”

Ben huffs.

"Fucking  _Mistress,_ then. _Mistress._ Are you fucking satisfied?"

The warmth returns, enveloping the bell of him, and he can feel her hands now, too; the heat of Rey's palms spread around the base of his shaft. He grunts as her lips work rapidly along him, vaguely aware of his breath. But it’s the growing roil at his hilt that's overtaking almost everything else as thoughts of verging momentarily master Ben; he’s always been so fucking fast.

“Can I come in your mouth?”

He can hear her sucking. She's moaning, too, and the vibrations of those sounds are reverberating along his entire length, because she has him deep in her mouth, and the tip of his head is hitting the back of her throat as he thrusts up into her. But it feels best when she lifts her lips. When they rub hard at the base of his bell, up and down the glans to roll his foreskin back and forth over it, and make even more friction.

 _You know what to say, Kylo,_ Rey thinks through the bond.  _If you want me to let you do that._

 _Please,_  Ben thinks.  _Mistress._

_Then yes, you fucking can._

“I need to  _hold_ you, though,” he mutters.

_Do it._

Ben moans loud and long when it happens, just after his hands find the back of her head. He holds Rey, but he doesn’t hold her down. He just curves his palms around the back of her head as her lips rise up his shaft, until she’s almost sucking the spend out of him as he comes, still working on his bell in time with the pulsing.

Ben lies back in the darkness as it all just crashes around him then; the warmth and the images inside his head of Rey’s lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, her wide eyes looking up at him as she takes him. Understanding him. And all his fucking weird insecurities.

And after that, when Rey lifts the blindfold, those eyes are hooded, but they're still understanding. And her hair is still in a beautiful mess. And Ben watches her close her eyes, and he closes his, too. And in  _that_ darkness, their tongues start a new fight for dominance.


	49. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 11. Part 1 of 4. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to the 'Reunion' prompt set by @two-halves-of-reylo around late October 2018.

“Gartro egg omelette with Jerba cheese,” Ben responds to Rey’s question about what he’s cooking now for breakfast.

She purses her lips and crinkles her brow.

“But why  _Jerba_ cheese, though?”

“Well, because  _I_ like it, but I can leave it out of yours if you want,” he offers. “If you want, you can just have omelette, how’s that?”

She nods.

“That’s good. Just omelette, please. I don’t like omelette _and_ cheese, Ben. Maybe if it was  _another_ kind of cheese… Or, maybe if the cheese was on the  _side...”_

“Rey?”

“Yes?”

“Go for a walk,” he says. “I’ll make it without cheese, it’ll be here when you get back. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says happily, smiling.

Ben tilts his mouth down to hers and she lifts on her toes to peck it. Then she drains the last of the caf from the cup in her hand, sets the empty back down on the island bench and kisses Finn’s cheek; he’s cracking the eggs because he’s good at that, both Rey and Ben have conceded it.

She walks to the front door and works her feet into her old woolen boots. Something needy thumps softly at her right ankle. Rey bends and picks up Air, like a pallet by prongs on a forklift.

The cat seems to like it when it’s picked up like this: with two hands beneath its skinny belly from one side of its very middle. Just like a pallet by prongs on a forklift. Rey knows all about forklifts. She knows a lot less about cats.

But that’s okay because Air doesn’t seem to know that much about humans, either. But it does seem to like being picked up by one; just every now and then, when Rey lets it outside. When they both just need some air. So it’s fine. This is all fine. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement of fine.

So, Rey collects Air like a forklift would a pallet. Then she flips the cat over so it’s nestled in her arms and Air stares up at Rey. With its big green eyes and its furry, skinny belly. And it blinks at Rey, waiting for the head smudge. Air loves to smudge heads with Rey.

“Be good,” Rey warns, as they smudge heads.

Then Rey sets the one-eared cat down on the floor of the apartment. She opens the front door. The cat bolts and Rey does too, after closing the door behind them.

Rey snugs her hands into the pockets of Han’s old jacket. She shifts her shoulders as she jogs down the dimly-lit stairwell, strides through the entrance hall, and then the cool night air hits the bare skin of her face and neck. She shrugs the curt collar of the jacket up her shoulders. It’s not normally cold on the Moon, but tonight is just a little bit chillier than usual. And something about it feels just a little bit different.

She walks along briskly, looking up. The air tonight seems thinner somehow. She’s never been able to see the sky here, since she and Ben arrived just over a week ago, but tonight she doesn’t have to imagine what it looks like because she can almost see it. Beyond the thinned smog. The stars of Hutt Space are almost visible.

What  _does_ Nar Shaddaa look like from here? Are there other moons up there, too? Which star is brightest in this system?

“Where’d you get that jacket?”

Rey shakes her head and blinks.

 _Gotta swear off the Sunburn,_ she thinks to herself.  _And lay off hemchar in the mornings..._

“I’m talkin’ to you, baby, oh don’t walk away...”

Rey stops. She turns slowly towards the source of the smooth male voice behind her as she reaches beneath the hem of Han’s old leather jacket and feels for the hilt of her saberstaff, tucked inside the wide leather straps of the tanned belt around her waist.

“None of your business, that’s where,” she clips. “But I’ll grant you a word to the wise...”

Her eyes trace the silhouette of the source of the voice now; a hooded man, only slightly taller than herself, standing several yards away.

“...Don’t pick this fight.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” the smooth voice murmurs. “I’ve seen you fight, and you look absolutely beautiful when you do it.”

Rey’s stomach clenches. She narrows her eyes and bares her teeth.

“What do you mean?”

“I  _mean,”_ he says, taking one step forwards as Rey removes the saber, and brings it to her thigh, gripping and re-gripping the hilt, feeling its weight in her dominant hand, “What I say.  _I’ve seen you fight.”_

“Where?”

“The fight club in the sex district.”

Rey’s heart is in her mouth.

 _Fuck,_ she thinks.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?”

Instinctively Rey removes the hand still snugged inside the pocket of her jacket, drops that hand to her side and very slowly unfolds her fingers. She turns them in a clockwise direction, spreading the webbing and imagining something very pleasing. Something that instinct tells her will lessen her fear right now. And her anger. And her shock. Something she’s never done.

Rey imagines the webbing of her hand is pressing against the hooded man’s trachea. Not hard. Not even firm. Just enough to make him feel what she feels now. Just a little hint of that fear. Of that anger. Of that shock. Because she doesn’t want the hooded man to collapse, or for him to bring hands to his neck. She doesn’t want the hooded man to breathe hard, or to gasp for the polluted air that’s all around them now outside on the streets of the Smuggler’s Moon.

The cat curls around her ankles. It wants to go back inside.

“Just a minute, Air,” Rey breathes, walking towards him.

Rey stops imagining.

She still can’t see his eyes, but she no longer senses what she had only moments ago when her heart was in her mouth. The hooded man no longer has the upper hand. They’re even now.

There’s something about him, she doesn’t know what. He reminds her of someone. He knows her jacket.

“You will lower your hood,” Rey says quietly, as she lowers her hand. “And then you will tell me who you are.”

One hand, concealed by a glove that was once perhaps fine and furred, shifts the shabby hood backwards, and the smooth voice - the hooded man in the darkness - becomes a tired face edged on all sides by grey.

“Lando Calrissian,” he says, as Rey stares into his worn eyes, that glint but not unkindly. “And  _you,_ baby, are...?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just in case you missed it, the 'reunion' is between Lando and the jacket! XD I actually like to imagine that it's this one from Solo that Ben gave her:  
> 


	50. Praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 11. Part 2 of 4. Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamelessly soft and smut-free finnlo response to ‘Praise-kink’ for Day 7 of Kinktober 2018. 
> 
> They are having fun with each other in this chapter so it's okay to laugh. Hope you enjoy it. (And who says there's no Pyrex in space? Not me!)

“Ben?”

“Mm?”

“I think you’re slowly getting the hang of this,” Finn says. “You did that one really well, not nearly as much shell as in the first one.”

Having just shown Ben how to break Gartro eggs with one hand, Finn watches him crack a third into the large Pyrex bowl on the bench. They’re making Rey’s cheese-free omelette.

“Thanks,” Ben says, turfing the shell into the ceramic basin of scraps beside him. “And in  _this_ one…”

Ben stoops and studies the freshly cracked egg.

“...I only got, like, one piece of shell in this one, that’s pretty good, Finn, right?”

“Yeah,” Finn says, encouragingly. “That’s pretty good, Ben. Well done.”

Finn stands on Ben’s left, watching him in profile. Between his long fingers Ben holds one half of the egg shell he’s just broken. He fishes around with it inside the contents of the Pyrex bowl for a moment, until he collects the shard with the edge of the much larger piece in his hand. He drags that shard up the side of the bowl, then throws it all into the scraps. He nods slowly at the bowl, then glances at Finn.

Finn smiles approvingly and passes Ben a fourth egg. He watches Ben inspect it and then adjust his grip. Carefully, Ben taps it once against the edge. With one hand he opens the divided shell with his thumb, and the yolk and white drop.

“No shell,” he says happily, straightening up and smiling at Finn.

“That was  _very_ good, Ben,” Finn says, looking up at him. “You’re  _very_ good at that, now.”

He holds his gaze there for a moment. Ben’s eyes narrow a fraction, and he smirks just a little down at Finn.

“Are we doing this again?” Ben asks.

“Doing what?”

“You know what, don’t pretend.”

Finn presses his lips together, puckers them a little, thinking.

After a moment he smiles again at Ben and says, “Want to? I mean, you  _know_ I know you like it…”

Ben turns his face away from Finn’s and smirks into the bowl of raw egg.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not.”

Finn shifts his feet on the floor, turning away from Ben and leaning back against the stove. He passes Ben a fifth egg. When Ben accepts it Finn folds his arms in front of his chest and raises his eyebrows, still watching him closely.

“Do it again, Ben. Just like I showed you.”

With one hand Ben gives the egg a sharp rap on the bowl’s edge, divides the shell with his thumb and the contents drop, just like before.

“That was  _nice_ , Ben,” Finn praises. “But…”

Finn frowns at him.

“You did get just a little bit of that egg white on your thumb now, didn’t you. Hm?”

Ben discards the shell and inspects his thumb. Finn watches him frown at it.

“I think you could do a  _better_ job than that, Ben,” Finn says. “Don’t you? I mean, you’ve done a  _nice_  job, but I think you could do a  _very good_  job again, Ben. With no egg white on your thumb this time.”

“I probably could,” Ben concedes.

“You  _probably_ could?” Finn says, frowning up at him.

“I mean, I  _could,”_ Ben says. “I  _could_ do a better job. I  _could.”_

“I  _know_ you could, Ben,” Finn says. “I know you  _can.”_

Finn hands him a sixth egg.

“I want you to do a  _very good_ job this time, Ben.”

Ben cracks the sixth egg and then Finn leans over to inspect it. Then he inspects Ben's thumb.

“That  _was_  very good, Ben,” Finn says. “You  _have_  done a very good job cracking  _all_  of these eggs into this bowl. You’re a very good boy, Ben. You’re a very good  _Ben.”_

Ben glances back.

“You wanna know something?” Finn says.

“Yes,” Ben replies.

“I  _liked_ watching you crack all those eggs.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Finn says. “I  _really_ liked it, and you wanna know why?”

“Yes,” Ben repeats.

“Because you, Ben, did a  _really great_   _job_ cracking all those eggs into that bowl.”

The corners of Ben’s mouth start to lift.

“When you did that, Ben, when you cracked all those eggs into that bowl, you know what?”

“What?”

“You made me feel really  _proud,”_  Finn says. “When you cracked all of those eggs so well like that, into that bowl, you made me feel  _really_   _proud of you,_ Ben.  _Really_  proud.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Finn says. “Oh, yes you did.”

“You want me to do something else for you, then? I could do something else.”

Finn smiles.

“Yes, Ben, I  _do_  want you to do something else for me, yes, I do. Because you look like a  _good Ben._  A  _very good_   _Ben.”_

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to  _whisk_ those eggs, Ben,” Finn says. “I want you to  _whisk_ those eggs  _real good,_ because you look like a  _real good Ben_ and I want you to make me  _just_ as proud  _whisking_ those eggs as you just made me  _breaking_ those eggs into that bowl.  _Just_ as proud. Like a  _real good Ben.”_

Finn uncrosses his arms, reaches across to the drawer in front of him and inside that he finds a whisk. He hands that whisk to Ben.

“Do it,” Finn says.  _“Whisk_ those eggs  _real good,_ Ben.”

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

Ben smiles as he starts to whisk the eggs.

“Do you get off on this?”

“What?”

“You heard what I said.”

Finn watches Ben’s wrist. He has a nice action. The muscles of Ben's forearm contract when he whisks. Finn watches the flexors work hard.

 _Yes I do,_ Finn thinks to himself.  _Yes I do get off on this._

“Do _you?”_ Finn asks, smiling and still watching Ben’s forearm whisk hard.

Ben snorts and Finn does, too. Ben whisks harder.

“That’s really excellent, Ben,” Finn says. “You have a  _really strong_ wrist action, it’s  _really_ strong and I’m  _really_ proud of  _you...”_

Ben stops whisking. He glances at Finn. Finn looks down at the bowl.

“Well done, Ben, this is a really excellent start,” Finn says. “But I do think, if we're both  _really honest_  - which we are - that you and I both know really _well_  that you could do an  _even better_  job here on this now. I mean, Ben, just  _look_  at you.”

Finn touches his fingers to the inner muscles of Ben’s right forearm, the forearm holding the whisk. Ben doesn’t flinch, and Finn notes this. Ben lets Finn stroke his flexors. 

 _“These,”_ Finn pets, “Are  _really_ strong muscles, Ben. And do you know what that means?”

Ben looks down at Finn.

“What?” Ben breathes.

“That means, Ben, that I’m expecting a  _lot_ from you now, because I know how strong these muscles are, and I know that so do you.”

“Yeah,” Ben says, grinning. “I’m  _really_  strong…”

“Well, go on, then,” Finn says. “Show me  _how_  strong you are, Ben.  _Beat_ those eggs in that bowl for me now.”

Ben does it.

“Perfect,” Finn says, as he folds his arms again and watches Ben start to sweat. “That’s  _really_ perfect. You are doing a _really perfect_  job beating those eggs. You’re a _perfect_ Ben. Now, pour that into the pan. Rey is gonna  _love_ that omelette.”


	51. Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 11. Part 3 of 4. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruh-roh, the foot chapter! If you hate feet you will hate this so please just hit next! 
> 
> This chapter includes finnlo foot massages and toe sucks.
> 
> This was in response to 'Feet', another Kinktober 2018 prompt.

Ben finished cooking Rey’s cheese-free omelette. Finn approved of it. Ben undercooked it quite a bit, so it would keep in the oven on a very slow burn without spoiling 'til Rey got back, and while he and Finn ate their own breakfasts. As well as the Jerba cheese, they added Antarian peas. Finn found them in the back of the 'serva.

Now Finn’s on the sofa drinking caf, with his clean feet up and his legs stretched out. Ben wanders over to join him, sitting down there at a right-angle to Finn. Ben puts his own clean feet up and stretches out his legs, too. It’s a big, roomy sofa.

He looks at Finn’s well-manicured toes, while Finn sips his caf, and Ben remembers how soft the skin just above those pretty toes is, across the bridge. Ben reaches out with his own pretty toes and touches Finn’s. Finn doesn’t tense or flinch at Ben's touch.

“So, where’d you learn how to break eggs like that, anyway?” Ben asks, after awhile. “I’m fairly sure  _that’s_  not a key stormtrooper skill or understanding.”

Finn snorts.

“Rose taught me.”

Finn drains the last of the caf from the small cup in his hand, sets it down on the table by the sofa and stares at it. And Ben doesn’t need to sense to read that.

“You miss her,” Ben says quietly to Finn, shifting his foot so that now the pad is over the bridge of Finn’s, pressing down gently.

He feels the bridge of Finn’s foot lift a little, countering the pressure of his own as it presses down again.

“Don’t do that, Ben.”

Ben pulls his foot away.

“No, not _that,_ do that,” Finn frowns. “Don’t do  _that…_ Don’t  _sense_ me.  _Ask_  me questions, I want to  _talk_ to you.”

“I  _didn’t_ sense you,” Ben mutters. “You just looked sad, that’s all. I thought you were. I thought you missed her.”

“Ask me how she is,” Finn murmurs.

“Okay,” Ben murmurs back. “How is she?”

“She’s good,” Finn says, giving Ben a small smile.

Finn reaches out towards the heel of Ben’s foot and gently pulls it into his lap. Ben raises an eyebrow.

“No?” Finn murmurs.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs back. “You should holo her again, Finn, she’d like that.”

“I will tomorrow,” Finn replies, holding Ben’s foot in his lap with one hand. “We already holo’d today.”

“You don’t wanna holo her twice in one day?”

“I don’t want to  _smother_ her,” Finn says, frowning down at Ben’s foot. “You know? She doesn’t like that...”

Ben frowns as Finn presses one thumb firmly into the pad of Ben's foot and begins a very slow massage before glancing up at Ben.

“Why are you frowning?” Finn asks. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” Ben says. “That feels nice, it’s just I would probably try to connect with Rey, like, a couple of times a day I guess, but... I guess she would probably fucking hate that too, actually.”

“Rose just likes it once a day.”

“You’ve asked her?”

“She’s  _told_ me, I don't  _need_  to ask. She just tells me stuff like that, all the time.”

“Oh, okay, yeah,” Ben says, snorting faintly. “Rey would probably tell me, too.”

"Just straight up tell you what she wants?"

"Yes."

“No, she wouldn’t,” Finn says. “You would have to ask her, Ben, it seems to me like she hardly tells you  _anything_ at first. You two don’t  _talk._  She  _likes_  being asked, though. You should ask her things more often. Remember the Jerba cheese? You can avoid those situations if you talk about things first.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe that's true,” Ben sighs. “Finn?”

“Mm?”

“What’s it like with her?"

"What's what like?" Finn asks, frowning a little. "Do you mean our  _relationship?_ Like, what's our  _relationship_  like?"

"Yeah. That's what I said."

“Okay, well that's what you  _tried_  to say,” Finn says, still working his thumb gently into the pad of Ben’s foot while Ben watches. “Our relationship is really good. Like the one you have with Rey.”

“Okay.”

“Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"Does this feel nice?”

“Yes.”

Finn smiles.

“Rose taught me how to give  _really good_ foot massages.”

“Does she give you foot massages?”

“All the time,” Finn says. “I miss them.”

Ben raises another eyebrow. Finn raises his hand and points a finger at Ben.

“You don’t have to. That’s not why I said that.”

But Ben wants to.

He misses Rey a bit already. She’s been gone awhile. Not a long while, just a little one. Not a whole year. Not even eight nights, which is how long he thinks it’s been since Finn last saw Rose. And even though Finn has said he doesn’t have to, Ben wants for a moment to feel just a little less lonely, and to make Finn feel that, too. Ben wants to give Finn a foot massage.

Gently, Ben withdraws his foot from Finn's hand then shifts himself on the sofa so they no longer sit at right-angles; they face each other now. Ben crosses his legs beneath himself, like Rey often does, then he pulls Finn’s foot into his lap. Ben positions both his hands around it, with thumbs pressed firm into its pad, and he starts to rub Finn there with his thumbs in slow circles. Finn leans back and closes his eyes.

“Does that feel nice?” Ben whispers.

“Yeah,” Finn breathes.

“Does it remind you of Rose?”

“Yeah," Finn smiles. “It really does.”

Ben smiles, too.

“I could go to sleep,” Finn murmurs, after awhile.

Ben watches Finn and he doesn’t mean to do it, but he can sense it now, as he rubs at the sole of Finn’s foot. Finn is still thinking of Rose. Of her doing something else to him now. Something more than just rubbing.

“Say it,” Ben breathes, still sensing Finn's memories of Rose but, most pertinent of all, that Finn's forgotten what he asked of Ben earlier.

“It’s just this one thing she does,” Finn murmurs, his eyes still closed.

Finn’s mind is on Rose and Ben’s returns to the kitchenette, back to all that praise. How good he felt. He wants Finn to feel good, too.

“What does she do?” Ben whispers.

“You really wanna know?”

“Yes,” Ben says, even though he can already see.

“I’m not saying you should do it or anything, okay? It's kind of... out there.”

“Of course you’re not,” Ben says, still rubbing.

“This is really embarrassing…”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes,” Ben murmurs. “I promise.”

Rey’s never done it to him. What would it be like if she did? Ben stares at Finn’s lips. What would it be like if  _Finn_  did? 

Ben remembers what Finn's lips feel like. He’s brushed them with his own, just that one time, when they’d been here on the sofa. What would it be like if  _Ben_  did? What would it be like to do it to Finn?

Ben leans in, Finn’s eyes are still closed. What would it be like to do something that makes Finn feel  _that_  good? Right now?

Ben opens his mouth and closes his lips around Finn's big toe. And then Ben begins to suck at Finn gently, watching carefully as Finn opens his eyes. And then his mouth.

“Yeah,” Finn breathes, as his eyes find Ben’s. “That’s it. That’s  _just_  what she does.”


	52. Not The Whole Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 11. Part 4 of 4. Rey.

Air's already torn in ahead. Rey closes the front door, kicks off her worn woolen boots, and for a moment considers leaving them where they land. She thinks better of it though, picking them up instead by the pull-straps and setting the heels together on the floor by the door. She could put them away in the wardrobe, she supposes, but she likes to set them here by the door. It’s become a habit.

Rey walks through to the lounge. Ben and Finn are on the sofa. Finn’s foot is still in Ben's lap.

“You look guilty as sin,” she mutters to Ben, pausing on her way to the kitchenette, to absorb some of the more unusual details of this not entirely surprising scene. “What in galaxy’s name have you been doing with him?”

“Foot massage,” Ben says.

“Really,” she says, the tone laced with disbelief. “A _foot_ massage.”

“Yes,” Ben answers, smirking back.

She stares at him for a moment longer, sensing.

 _And did you enjoy that?_ she asks through the bond, so Finn can’t hear.

_Yes._

Rey’s jaw drops and she begins to shake her head very slowly at Ben. He returns his gaze to Finn’s foot, and after a few more moments spent watching, Rey asks,

“Is he asleep?”

“No,” Finn mumbles.

Rey and Ben both snort.

The apartment smells warm, like butter on the good side of burnt. Rey follows her nose to the kitchenette, surprised she still has an appetite.

“In the oven,” she hears Ben say from the sofa. “The plate’s hot, be careful.”

Rey opens the door on it. She buries her hand inside a mitt before reaching in to pull the plate out. She walks it back to the lounge, still with the mitt on her hand. Then she sits, legs crossed, on the charcoal rug beside Air.

The cat is sat on its haunches, licking straight down its front. Rey begins tearing mouth-sized pieces from the omelette with one hand, and putting them straight into her mouth. As she chews, she looks again at Ben and Finn.

Finn is still lying back against the armrest, eyes closed. Rey swallows, senses again and then she smirks.

“So _how_ long have you been doing this for?” she asks Ben.

“Like, twenty minutes,” he murmurs.

 _“Twenty?”_ she repeats, incredulous.

“He really likes it,” Ben says, still grinning at Rey.

“Mm-hm,” Finn mumbles again.

“Urgh, I _hate_ feet,” she says, scrunching her nose and still staring at Ben’s hands, as they work on the bare foot in his lap. “I honestly don't know how _anyone_ could find them…”

“Where have you been, anyway?” Ben asks. “You’ve been gone for like over an hour, I thought you were just going for a _walk.”_

Rey chews on another torn piece of omelette, now thoroughly appalled she can still think about food, let alone _eating_ it.

She had considered turning and walking away. She had considered that as perhaps the safest option. Rey had considered just turning around and walking away from the man calling himself _Lando._

She places the last of the omelette into her mouth now, before sliding the empty plate in front of Air. The cat begins to lick at it.

Earlier, when she'd still been stood outside in front of Lando, she'd also considered answering his question. But that thought had passed by so quickly she’d hardly noticed it. Of the handful of options she’d shuffled then in her head, she'd settled on what she'd done in the end because she was just as curious about him as he seemed to be about her. She had a lot of questions, and she wanted answers to them all.

“How long have you been following me?” she'd asked.

“I _haven’t_ been following you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she'd warned.

She'd stretched out her fingers again then, and noticed his eyes flicker down towards them.

“I got lucky,” he'd answered, and she sensed he was telling the truth. “Our paths crossed again.”

“What do you want?” she'd asked.

“You’re a _fascinating_ lady,” he'd said, as he'd taken another step towards her. "I wouldn't say no to _you..."_

Rey had positively glared at him then. She had already pulled the saber. At that point, she’d even considered using it, and she'd toyed with it then, caressed its sleeping hilt while holding it against the front of her thigh, where he could clearly see it. Silently, she'd waited, gripping and re-gripping it softly in her hand, just so he didn't forget it was there. Until eventually...

“Alright, alright,” he’d said, once he'd run out of patience and more than just a chink in the smooth voice had emerged, but he hadn't yet dropped the act entirely. “You know, I don’t believe in superstitions, baby, but I could still be converted...”

“Superstitions?” she'd asked, ignoring his ailing efforts to sweet-talk her because she was also beginning to sense they weren't intentional, but rather just things born of habit. A _lot_ of habit.

“You know," she'd leveled then, "I _know_  that you know what _this_ is, so don't pretend you don't.”

“I _do_ know what that is, I watched you fight with it. And I _promise_ I'm not pretending,” he'd said of the saber. “But I’ve seen a lot of things in this galaxy, a _lot_ of things. And I ain't _never_ seen _nothing_ to suggest...”

“What do you mean by that?”

Rey’s expression had changed at these words, shifted to something more like curiosity. Had she heard those words before?

She didn’t think she had, but there was something there on the edge of her mind that was so familiar, and there was something about his eyes that was, too. Rey definitely didn’t know him, but there was a look there she’d seen before, she knew it, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on where she’d seen it. It was perhaps not something about the way he looked at all, but the way he looked _when he said it._ They way he _said_ things. And then it had hit her.

“You’re a _smuggler,”_ she'd whispered, because for some reason this man reminded her of Han. Reminded her almost _exactly_ of Han.

“And, baby,” he'd replied. “In that jacket it appears that so are you.”

He’d glanced at her weapon again then.

“So, now that we’ve established something we have in common,” he’d said. "How about you and me take a little walk now, and maybe we could discuss a little business together. What do you say?“

“I just walked the block,” Rey says now to Ben, looking up.

But Ben has stopped massaging Finn’s foot, and from the look on his face Rey can tell he's just heard every thought that's gone through her head, as she's sat there on the charcoal rug, recalling the start of it in silence to herself.

"Oh, _what,_ Ben?" she huffs, annoyed at herself for not sensing him there earlier, and somewhat exasperated by it. "Don't _look_ at me like that. I mean, _honestly,_  I just let you stay in here  _alone with Finn_  so you could  _suck on his toes,_ and you're not okay with me going out and  _talking_ to someone?”

“It's nothing, Rey,” Ben murmurs, faintly. “Forget it.”

But Rey knows, in this moment, Ben is concealing just as much as she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now back up to speed from where I left off last year. New updates will be posted soon. Thanks for reading this far!


	53. No Beeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 12. Part 1 of 6. Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so nice to be writing this story again, I’ve had a really big break from it and missed it! And I'm sorry it's been so long since updates. Thank you for sticking with this story throughout that time.
> 
> I cannot thank the multi-shippers enough for helping me explore ideas included in this chapter, and what’s coming up for the remainder. This is a 21-night fic, so it’s about halfway along. But the chatting about it really did help me so much to get back inside it again, after such a long break, so thank you, you know who you are! <3
> 
> Also… in the time since I last posted an update to this [I wrote a short epilogue story to Night Crawler which you can find here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397707/chapters/40949048)
> 
> There will be one or two things from that story mentioned in this one, so feel free to read it if you want some background for some things coming up. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this read and thanks for reading :)

Finn wakes up late, but he’s not aware of that at first.

At first he just burrows himself back down again beneath the blanket, and sinks his cheek further inside the soft hollow his head’s been making in the pillow all day as he’s slept. A pillow that for some reason smells like watermelon. It’s got a scent like a fresh lake might if someone went and sprinkled it with sugar. Or maybe that’s just the smell of stale Sunburn. Maybe that’s just the smell of a thing that needs a wash.

How often do pillows need washing? Finn’s got a vague suspicion. Because although he’s never lived in a house, or an apartment, as it were, until now, he has had pillows. And Finn knows very well when a thing needs a wash - maybe even better than most - but before the dissolution of the First Order, no one in the Resistance ever really thought to do a thing as lavish as wash a pillow. There was enough to do then, and it was always good enough just to have a pillow, let alone a clean one.

But would someone like Ben know when to wash pillows? He’s lived in a house before now. They’ve never actually talked about that, although Rey’s mentioned it to Finn once or twice. But surely Ben had lots of pillows there, when he was a kid. And Finn’s sure they would have all been laundered.

Rey’d have no idea about washing pillows, Finn is certain of that. Although he does recall a time he’s also sure she said Ben helped her wash one. But mostly Finn thinks she’d be the same as him, and that’s to say fairly much clueless about the finer points of sanitising manchester. 

Rose would know for sure, though. Rose knows almost everything. Finn lies on his back on the sofa and he thinks again about Rose. And then he thinks it’s strange, that he hasn’t yet heard them.

 _No beeps,_ Finn thinks.

And that’s when Finn knows he’s woken up late. That’s when he figures it out. Just before he hears Ben say,

“Thought you’d be up by now.”

“I’m awake,” Finn murmurs, but he’s only half-listening to Ben.

Finn’s well in the habit of inverting day and night now; he’s as good as been living here with Rey and Ben for well over a week in this system’s cycle, and he hasn’t found it so hard to adjust, mostly because, although they’re apart, recently they’ve been waking up around the same time each day, he and Rose. Just at opposite ends of it. Her mornings have been coinciding lately with his evenings, and that means she should be awake by now too, and should have holo'd. Rose should have holo'd Finn well before now.

“I didn’t say you weren’t awake,” Ben says. “I said you weren’t up. Aren’t you usually up by now?”

Finn opens his eyes, rolls to his side and peers out beyond the edge of the sofa, toward the small caf table, arm’s reach away.

Unless the light’s on in the lounge room, everything is always pretty much pitch black in here, when the bedroom door is closed, even in day. There are no windows in this room. There are some diodes though, in a line along the base of the holoscreen on the wall. They’re red. They’re easy to see in the dark.

“Finn? Did you hear what I said?”

_Why no beeps?_

“Ah, no,” Finn murmurs, glancing at Ben, who’s standing in front of the closed door right beside the holoscreen, dressed only in a pair of black trunks. “No, not really… Say it again?”

“Aren’t you usually up by now?”

Finn is staring at Ben, but not really looking. Rather, Finn is staring at Ben in that light, the light emitting from the dormant holoscreen’s diodes bathing his fit broad body and the lounge around them both in a faint red glow.

“Are you... feeling okay?” Ben asks, but again Finn’s only half-listening.

The holoscreen’s diodes typically make the one Finn’s searching for now all the more easy to see in this kind of semi-darkness. Because before he sleeps the last thing Finn does is set his holopad up to charge, and its single diode flashes red while he sleeps, but by the morning it’s turned green, and the light is steady, not flashing. Finn pulls his eyes from Ben in that light to the small caf table, searching the surface for the steady green light. But all Finn sees there is one that’s still red and flashing.

“Sure,” Finn murmurs. “I’m feeling fine.”

Is it broken? Finn’s heart begins to thunder at that thought.

“So, everything’s okay then, huh?”

Finn swallows.

“Yep,” he says, still on his side on the sofa, looking at the flashing red light, and certainly not starting to panic.

“Well, that’s good,” Ben says.

“Yep,” Finn repeats. “That’s great.”

He probably just failed to connect the cable last night. The contact points must have misaligned. That's all that's wrong. It’s not broken at all, it can’t be. That’s a ridiculous thought, because the diode’s still flashing. If the holopad was broken that diode wouldn’t be doing anything. There’d be no light at all right now. But if the _cable_ was broken…

“Droids used to do all that, by the way,” Ben says, quietly.

What if the wires inside the plastic sheath are damaged on the cable? That wouldn’t be as bad as if the holopad was broken, but Finn hasn’t brought a spare cable here. It’s just another singular, second-hand thing he’s been using for months, like the beat-up bounty hunter armour, and the beacon he first gave to Rey in the Meltdown.

Finn’s stomach lurches at the memory of the beacon. His holopad has an in-built beacon, and Rose has its twin. If he can't charge his holopad, he can't use its in-built beacon. And neither can she. How will Rose find him if he needs to leave the Moon? And how will Finn ever find her?

“They didn’t do laundry themselves, or not that I can remember.”

What the fuck is Ben talking about?

“Huh?” Finn grunts, glancing up again at him. “Sorry, I... I wasn’t really listening that time, either...”

“Nevermind,” Ben says, quietly. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Does he know? Ben’s shifting his hands. Do those hands look uncomfortable? Guilty? Finn didn’t _feel_ anything then, though. And he has been feeling it, when Ben does that. When Ben’s in his head. But Finn didn’t feel Ben do _anything_ then, or earlier, when Finn was still thinking about the pillow. And thinking about Ben as a kid, in a house, with Han and Leia. But he said that _thing._ He said that thing about _droids..._ And Finn _had_ been thinking about laundry...

Finn blinks several times to clear his eyes of sleep, then lowers his bare feet to the floor. He sits up. Slowly, calmly, and certainly not in any kind of panic Finn reaches out for the lifeless device on the caf table, its diode still flashing red and its ion battery still emptier than his stomach feels right now, but not only because Finn needs breakfast. Finn glances up at Ben again, and there’s still something about the way he’s looking back at Finn that reminds Finn of the times he knows Ben’s done it. He _has_ done it, Finn’s sure.

“I’ve asked you before _not_ to do that,” Finn whispers.

“I’m sorry. I’m worried. That’s all.” 

“About my pillow?”

“No,” Ben murmurs. “About the same thing you are.”

Now Finn can feel it. The gentle thing Ben does inside his head when he sifts through his thoughts.

”I’ve already told you,” Finn says, his voice still calm and quiet, “Everything’s fine. I’m _not_ worried.”

“Rey wants to go back to the fight club again."

A look of confusion crosses Finn's face at the sudden change in subject, but he doesn't say anything yet, because now Finn is giving Ben his full attention.

"So maybe," Ben adds, still just murmuring. "We could go back there too, and do what we did last time... Like we sort of talked about, you know? Because... Well, I liked that, and... You know, we walk right through the electronics district to get to that club, and... Well... I might need to pick up something there along the way... I might need to _fix_ something... Maybe... And there’s plenty of shit around here that’s broken... Like, that med droid in the cupboard? Well, I might need to fix _that..._ It might even be urgent... I might need to _urgently_ fix that... So... Maybe once we get back home again... Well, maybe then I _could_ fix that... If I had a thing to fix it with... Because I think I might _need_ to. And I do think, Finn, that it might be urgent.”

Ben looks at Finn for a moment longer and then he turns and ambles over to the kitchenette, and Finn stares at his big bare back as Ben turns on the light and starts to pull crockery and utensils out of the drawers and cupboards, and ingredients out of the ‘serva for breakfast.

And now it feels to Finn like Ben is waiting for something. And Finn is pretty sure he’s waiting for that same thing, too.


	54. Secrets And Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 12. Part 2 of 6. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: Implied jealousy/suspicion in this chapter, and a little bit of knife-play kink at the end.

Ben’s never really bothered telling lies. He’s concealed things. Kept secrets. But that’s not the same thing as lying. Because they are both doing the same thing now, Finn and Rey. Do they know that? They’re not just keeping secrets from Ben. They’re not just concealing things. They’re both trying to tell him lies now. Why?

After breakfast Rey showers, and then they all dress and leave the apartment. It’s a typical night on the Moon, and a typical smattering of sentients and droids lurk the familiarly water-soaked streets of it. But those streets don’t smell like rain tonight. Tonight they smell like stale cooking oil. Aola. And it’s not necessarily a bad smell, Ben doesn’t think. But it is distinctly different.

The three of them exchange few words on the way to the club, and Ben thinks that’s different, too. And once they're inside it’s Ben and not Rey who deals with the Twi’lek at the base of the stairs, because Rey is still unusually quiet. 

She's been guarded since about this time yesterday, after returning home from her walk. And they didn’t have sex later on. Once day had emerged and they'd said goodnight to Finn, Ben just cuddled and spooned her there in bed, until she fell asleep. And Ben didn’t mind that at all at the time, just doing that - snuggling - because it was always just as good as making love to Rey to simply hold her very close to his chest, deep beneath warm blankets. But that was another thing different. They didn’t fuck each other yesterday. For the first time in eleven days and nights, Ben and Rey just slept together.

“Ben?”

She’s stopped him, just before they’ve reached the hostess, waiting at the end of the hall. Rey’s placed her hand to his sternum, beneath his black V-neck, and now she’s rubbing gently there at his body, and looking up at him. His heart aches, because he’d like to kiss her, but she’s still guarding. And Ben’s not sure she wants to be kissed. Yet another difference.

“I know I said I wanted to watch,” she murmurs, and he sees her glance at Finn as she says it, and reach out her other hand for his. “But if it’s alright with both of you, I’d like to see some fighting in the main arena first. Join you later on?”

“Why don’t you wanna watch us?” Ben asks, very quietly, beginning to feel the first roil of nerves now high in his belly, just beneath her hand. But that’s _not_ different, that feeling. That feeling is very familiar to Ben. “You liked it last time. You told me you did. Was that not the truth?”

Rey lifts on her toes and kisses his mouth.

“You know I’ll come back,” she murmurs, her lips still close as she says it. “You need to trust me, Ben.”

“I do,” he murmurs. _But why are you so guarded?_

 _Please don't make it into a fuss, Ben, you know Finn will take care of you, and I won’t be long,_ she petitions through the bond. _I swear it._

“If it’s really what you want,” he breathes, “I can’t stop you, Rey, you know that.”

She kisses his mouth one final time then pulls away, pecking Finn on the cheek as she turns from them both to organise entry with the hostess before disappearing, on her own into the shadows of the cavernous main arena. And Ben stares after her for what he's sure is more than just moments. Feeling somehow lost.

“Ben? She's asking what we want. Got a preference?”

Finn is looking up at him now. Ben frowns. How long has he been standing here, just staring?

“You can choose, it's fine, I don't mind,” Ben murmurs, returning his eyes to the shadows beyond the doorway, and consequently Finn steps up to organise their preferences.

“You okay?” Finn asks him, several minutes later, as they follow the hostess down the hall and she shows them inside the private arena, the same one they used last time.

“You didn’t think that was odd?” Ben mutters, removing his V-neck now they’re alone, and then beginning to stretch out his back and shoulders briefly, the nerves dissipating somewhat as he moves and tries to focus on his body. Tries to get out of his head, to shut it off. But it’s hard. His mind is still having ideas he doesn’t want it to. “I mean, Rey was really keen to watch us last time. That doesn’t make you… I don’t know... Nervous? Or something?”

Ben reaches for the hilt of his saber.

“She can make her own choices, Ben,” Finn points out, catching the hilt Ben’s just thrown him. “I mean, all she said was that she wanted to watch some fighting first, then come watch us play. Nothing wrong with that... Should I be using gloves with this thing, by the way?”

Ben's frown deepens.

“We’ve never used gloves before. Does it worry you we don’t use gloves?”

They haven’t brought gloves. They’ve never brought gloves. Ben still has many pairs of them. But these days he keeps them all beneath the sofa, with the kink paraphernalia he started stashing there long ago, after he realised how much he liked it, and when Rey had still been on Kashyyyk.

“I mean, you know I won’t hurt you, don’t you?” Ben checks, accepting the vibro-blades from the Twi’lek who’s just brought them to the door, as well as a bottle of Corellian whiskey and three shot glasses. “You ordered _whiskey?”_

Finn grins, igniting the weapon and gazing at the blade, his lack of gloves apparently forgotten as Ben watches the saber cast his semi-dressed body in a light that warms the skin Ben already suspects is very warm now. He’d like to find out. His nerves are settling.

“By the way,” Ben says, pouring three shots, drinking two and taking the third to Finn. “If you’re worried about protection, you might wanna cover _that_ back up.”

“You don’t like to watch me?” Finn says, downing his shot and setting the empty glass on the Veshok floor, out of their way, near the fringe of the space.

With the twin blades now in hand, Ben’s savouring the dry flavour of the whiskey on his palate, the alcohol beginning to take the rest of his doubts away while he eyes Finn’s contours; hard, supple muscle emerging in a series of generous, symmetrical arcs from the base of his body-glove, the top half of which he’s rolled down. His eyes are alive with the light of Ben’s saber and Finn is ready to play.

Ben regrips the hafts of the knives in his bare hands. Ready now to waste no more time, he rushes straight at Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter is Rey and Lando.


	55. The Girl Who Left Jakku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 12. Part 3 of 6. Rey.

As soon as she’s inside the main arena, Rey thinks it might be gone; the feeling of guilt she felt separating from Ben and Finn in the hallway. She’s glad they wanted to return and fetish fight, but she’s not actually here to watch more of their barely-masked amour for each other emerge tonight.

Her eyes catch another man’s gaze from across the crowded room - as promised, he’s waiting for her by the bar - but Rey doesn’t make her way over to Lando Calrissian just yet. She hasn’t actually come here for him, either.

Rey’s here for the girl who left Jakku, needing a job, and she marches her straight to the center of the ring and slugs her saber down on the floor, signaling her intent to fight; here she has a job to do and she’s not afraid to do it. Not yet.

Rey begins to stride out confident laps of the ring, just inside its perimeter, awaiting a challenger; chin high, eyes combing the crowd. Keen to spot her potential opponent early.

The crowd’s density this evening surprises Rey a little, so unlike four nights ago when she versed the Trandoshan, and when the club was busy but not bursting, and if you could have called that versing; the towering reptilian had made mediocre opposition at best then. In the end she’d felt nothing but sorry for it.

As Rey begins her second lap of the ring she’s aware she’s completely lost sight of Lando. He’s left the bar and vanished somewhere inside the kaleidoscopic assortment of Masters and slave fighters. Does that bother Rey? Is something beginning to niggle at her? Doubt? Does the disappearance of the aged smuggler she hardly knows or trusts take her confidence down by half a peg?

But Rey does believe he'll keep his word; she made him well aware of why it wouldn’t do to double-cross her, when they first met in the street last night, and so it’s not that which troubles Rey at present.

Something else is rising in her, replacing her initial ferocity as she starts her third lap of the arena. It’s taken her a good deal of marching to finally spot what she’s marching around. What’s evidently always been here, since before she even stepped inside the ring.

Her assumption it was empty was wrong. Rey’s not the aggressor she initially thought she was. She doesn’t have the upper hand, she’s not spoiling for the fight. Instead, Rey is in the risky predicament of accepting a battle to the death without full knowledge of what it is she’ll face, knowing she can’t back out now.

How and why had she overlooked this? Had she come out here too cocky to pay proper attention to her surroundings in the first instance? Or simply too eager to prove her self-worth? Is she here for Lando after all? Is she here to prove a point to someone other than herself? Doubts are threatening but Rey is still sure of one thing; there is nothing at all innocuous about this small thing on the floor.

She can sense that clearly now about it and Rey’s stomach clenches. An unexpected anxiety begins to rise. The guilt is not gone, just muted. Perhaps it’s not even guilt at all. Is panic starting to pair itself with her nerves? Is Rey afraid?

Rey does the only thing she ever does when she feels that. Rey marches straight towards the place where the something waits, in the centre-left of the arena, on the floor. It’s not much bigger than the size of her own already small palm, and the longer she stares at it the more she’s sure she does indeed recognise elements of it. Parts.

She’s seen parts of this on other, larger things. And one of them, Rey knows, reminds her categorically of Ben. Her stomach clenches again at the thought of Ben, but she has little time to dwell on that as movement catches the corner of her eye.

Nervously, Rey lifts her gaze. Several figures, who’ve noticed perhaps how close she’s come to the item - aware she’s finally seen it - are closing in on the fringe of the arena, and Rey is not as surprised as she might have expected to see that Lando’s among them. It’s a set-up.

Instinctively Rey calls her saber straight to her hand and a surge of adrenalin spikes the beat of her heart, but Rey’s reactions are always those of a fighter, and the hormone affords her a sight so clear now that the dimly lit, t’bac smoke-filled room might just be the crystal lakes Ben's told her of on Chandrila.

With an unmatched focus, and the guilt still growing - without taking her eyes off it - Rey knows she can name the thing on the floor of the arena now, or at least the thing it reminds her so much of. And she’s not wrong to make it conjure memories of Ben because he had one, although not nearly one this small.

The holographic projector shimmers to life from the tiny lens inset in its centre, and in response Rey ignites then arcs the twin violet blades of her saber as she takes a sequence of nimble steps backwards from the emerging holo, buying distance. And time.

She stops, splits her step and changes grip on the hilt of her weapon, blades still whirling, but with little awareness of that. That behaviour is innate. What she’s really doing, what Rey is really intent on now, is watching keenly for what will emerge from the lens of the projector, as the flare of sapphire holo-light begins to shift and take on a series of shapes, and then one unified form. Rey narrows her eyes at the two-meter high Lasat.

She’s newly aware of two more things about this adversary. The creature - which she does recognise, knowing a small amount about them from the months she spent with the Resistance after Crait, haunting Outer Rim spaceports, bars and bases - is actually not sentient. It’s a program. A holo-Lasat. And the weapon it wields is also familiar, much more familiar; a perfect virtual copy of Ben’s lightsaber.

This is not just tech, it’s First Order tech, and Rey has fought this tech before. It was Ben who first showed it to her, before the war ended and she was still on Kashyyyk. It was Ben who showed her this. Watched her fight this. Not a holo-Lasat. A holo-Jedi. But it’s the same thing. The same principle. It’s all just code. Isn’t it?

The holo-Lasat begins to mirror Rey’s movements, spinning the blade deftly just below the cross, just like Ben. Programmed to fight just like Kylo Ren. But that’s not what makes her afraid in the end because she knows already that she can beat him.

What finally makes Rey afraid in the end is when the holo-Lasat leaves the disc. When it walks right off the beam of the projector's lens, and begins to move freely about the arena. As freely as Rey.

This is not just a training program, not just what Ben had in his chambers all that time ago. That’s why she only recognises some of the parts. This is _modified_ tech. Not made to train, but to kill, with no room for a sentient’s error.

And they start to circle each other, the holo-Lasat, programmed to kill, and Rey, confidence gone, full of guilt and doubt, and feeling like little more now than the girl who left Jakku.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the read x


	56. Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 12. Part 4 of 6. Finn.

Maybe it’s the whiskey. Maybe it’s the smell of the whiskey, and the Jekka seed oil. Maybe it’s the smell of the whiskey and the Jekka seed oil, and Ben. Whatever it is, Finn’s worked up a sweat already for it and Ben appears to have done the same. Finn can see the sheen of it whenever Ben angles his upper chest just enough to catch the pearlescent light that marks this space as intimate. The soft, even tones in here bathe their semi-bare bodies, and make Finn want to do things he hasn’t done in here before. He suspects they make Ben want to do those things, too.

For now though, they’re doing things they have done in here before. Ben rushes at Finn for a second time, crouching as he closes in and pulls both wrists in tight to his hip, on his non-dominant side, before raising them together in a single under-armed, U-shaped arc. Ben sweeps upwards with the vibro-blades to meet the saber Finn extends, waiting and ready for it. As Ben rises with the knives, both they and the laser connect. The men push against each other. Finn smells it again. He thinks it is the whiskey.

“You’re soft tonight,” Ben comments, as after many moments spent braced against each other like that, Finn feels Ben’s body start to ease itself away from their tryst.

“Am not,” Finn says, watching Ben turn around and walk away to reposition. “Are you gonna repeat that?”

“Yeah, I like where that ends up,” Ben says. “I like that hold. But you need to bear down on me more this time, I need to feel more of that. I want to feel more of you behind that.”

“Alright.”

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Go.”

Ben rushes at Finn for a third time, and this time Finn leans in to it, and lifts on his toes as Ben rises again from bent knees. Finn huffs and pushes hard against the resistance Ben offers, energy created by both effort and motion. But Finn has placed too much weight above him this time. Ben is overpowered. He goes slack well before they're able to tryst.

“Who’s soft now?” Finn grunts, spreading his weight evenly across both his feet, still standing over Ben with the saber held high.

Finn likes the way it feels in his hands, and the pleasure of that is pulling his attention away from the troubles of earlier, and away from the worries of things he can’t do too much about, not until they get back to the apartment. And Ben seems calmer now too, more at peace than when Rey first left them alone together in the hallway.

He gazes down at a version of Ben he likes just as much as the version who rushes him. A version of Ben who’s looking up and hitching half his mouth in a smile he can’t hide. It’s too big.

“That suits you,” Finn murmurs.

Ben’s still paused in a crouch between Finn’s knees, on the Veshok floor, arms slack and wrists by his sides, the blades adjacent to the oiled wooden boards. And Finn’s still holding Ben’s saber raised, and he takes another moment to appreciate the way Ben looks, cast as he is in the faintly scarlet tint. It’s warming his face.

“I like it when you do that,” Finn adds.

“What?” Ben asks. “Yield?”

“Yes,” Finn says quietly. “And when you stop there, like that. I like that, too.”

“Stop beneath you?”

“Yes,” Finn repeats, his voice still quiet.

“How many shots of whiskey did I give you again?” Ben snorts.

“One,” Finn admits. “But it was enough. I don’t even know how you’re still doing this after two, I feel… too relaxed, maybe. Too relaxed after just one. I feel… slow.”

“You’re not slow,” Ben murmurs, still smiling up at Finn. “But you are soft.”

Finn lowers the saber, but otherwise he doesn’t move, and neither does Ben for several more moments.

“One more time?” Ben asks him, eventually. “Then… Maybe we could swap roles? You come at me for awhile?”

“Sure.”

Finn watches Ben stand, turn, walk away and reposition, and for the fourth time Ben rushes Finn, preparing in exactly the same way that he has for the last three.

This time, though, when Ben thrusts up, Finn hasn’t quite finished his own preparation. He’s already feeling slow. And perhaps he had lingered a little too long on the way Ben looked just then, as he brought the knives up. The way Ben inhaled. Took in a quick rush of air. And the way that made his cheeks hollow out.

Finn is watching Ben in slow-motion, and maybe the whiskey is responsible for that. Ben's movements are playing before Finn’s languid eyes frame by frame, until one of those almost seems to stop. And it's that one. The one of the hollowed out cheeks. Finn keeps playing that frame far too slow, so slow it almost stops.

So this time when Ben thrusts, Finn’s right foot is still taking just a fraction more weight than it should be. His body’s too slow, because his mind is still caught up in the frame with the hollowed out cheeks. Finn is late to prepare, and when the laser and the blade connect Finn can’t quite get his left shoulder high enough, although he’s trying. He’s trying hard but he’s late, and he can’t push off like he should from his foot to prepare. He’s not ready. He’s too relaxed.

And perhaps Ben’s grown used to applying this amount of force by now, and having Finn resist it, and even overpower it; keep Ben’s own power in check. Like a safety. Just the amount he needs for Finn to repel him with just the right amount of force back - keep each other in check - so they can tryst in one spot, muscles taut and bodies straining. So by now, Ben has relaxed a lot, too.

Finn knows that he should go slack. He needs to. That’s what he’s meant to do if he needs to stop. Before he gets hurt. So that Ben will never be able to hurt him. But maybe it’s the whiskey, causing Finn to maintain his position - causing him not to go slack at all, because Ben is overpowering him. There is no doubt anymore about that. Finn can feel that in slow-motion, too.

Ben’s body begins to lift so high now it moves the fore of Finn’s arm, the one holding the saber, and crumples it against Finn’s chest. Ben comes to rest against nothing much that's terribly solid. He just impacts with a soft, slow, very relaxed version of Finn. And Ben’s mouth is so close to his own now that he can smell whiskey, and before too long he can taste it, because Ben’s mouth collects Finn’s at the exact moment Finn's brain finally catches up - the frames all catch up, speed back up - and Finn does eventually go very slack, but not soon enough to stop this.

Neither of them mean for it to, and especially not Finn. And maybe it is all just because of the whiskey. But it happens, somehow, just like that. With no one around to witness, Finn and Ben kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun to write and hopefully not too irresponsible. I promise I'm trying my best to look after all of them in this fic. I hope you enjoyed the read and thanks for reading it. In the next chapter, we will return to Rey v holo-Lasat.


	57. Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 12. Part 5 of 6. Rey.

The holo-Lasat makes a quick probing lunge for her left calf and Rey barely lifts her foot in time to dodge as her heart rockets to her mouth in panic. She hadn’t sensed that coming at all, but could her senses really save her here? She can’t mind-trick a projection.

If she could somehow shove aside with all her might this part of the scenario, though - the part she can’t yet define but which is nonetheless hands down terrifying - then maybe she could also start to slowly claw back the confidence she’s just let slip so far beneath the floor of the ring it’s probably re-emerged on the other side of Hutt Space by now.

One thing. Just one thing about it that’s useful. That’s all she needs now, isn’t it? One thing about it that she can exploit. And her weapon.

With hands gripped at the fore and aft of its hilt, Rey revolves the blades of her saberstaff in consecutive double-helixes as she and the super-sentient orbit each other again.

This uncharacteristic panic is still doing its best to drown her rational thoughts with a fug of self-doubt, but how will succumbing to either of those things really help her now? Neither of those things have ever overwhelmed Rey - for fuck’s sake, she’s not Ben - but perhaps she can use one of them. Or fear. She's afraid, too. Could the fear give her some kind of insight? Help allay the self-doubt and panic?

 _Define it,_ Rey urges herself, as the holo-Lasat feints and Rey’s stomach jolts. _What are you so afraid of?_

Her opponent fakes another move then lunges again for her left calf. It’s testing her reflexes. Doing what Rey herself should be doing now instead of all this doubting and shirking around as it sizes her up, accruing information about her; data on how she moves, how fast, and to which side she favours. And as it makes another quick lunge for her left, suddenly she thinks she might know.

 _You’re afraid of what you don’t know about it,_ Rey thinks, as she stares with new awareness at what’s in front of her. _You’re afraid of the things you can’t see._

Her senses will not predict its actions, and can’t manipulate them either, but maybe if she could forget about that as well then she could focus on something else. Like the fact that this hologram is still for all intents and purposes just another fucking Lasat. And she still needs to fight it like one.

The holo-creature makes another quick stab at her left, and as she raises her foot to avoid it again she notices something else.

Lando and the group of Masters seem nearer. Have they moved closer? Rey glances left and right, assessing the distance between herself and the edge of the arena. The Lasat lunges again and Rey thinks she understands its strategy now. Each time she lifts her foot the hologram is advancing and slowly inching her body closer to the boundary.

Why would it do that, though? Why wouldn’t it just go for a swing? Is it not strong enough? It’s not the Trandoshan - that thing was built like a ‘serva - but it’s still enormous, much taller than Rey, even when crouched forward like this, with its upper body held parallel to the floor and the holo-saber still extended spryly in its clawed hands.

But if the creature were going for a kayo surely it would have done it by now? They’ve been parrying around like this for a good ten minutes. So why is it slowly boxing her in? Why does it want her here on the fringe? Does it just have a thing for finishing fighters slowly?

The holo takes another swipe, and maybe it’s nothing more than a reflex action - nerves - but somehow the edge of Rey’s blade slips now beneath the holographic one. The competitors lock in a perilous brace until the Lasat’s eyes shift for just the very briefest moment to Rey’s leg, but when it swings with its clawed foot Rey is ready.

She propels herself from her still-grounded right foot to dodge the kick by raising her left one again. This time though, instead of retreating, Rey uses the momentum of her body to flip the Lasat’s single holo-blade over with the back edge of her dual-sword, propelling her front blade forward. The laser connects with the creature’s upper arm. It leaves no mark. But even if she could wound it like this, inflict an injury, a direct hit is not what she really needs now. What she really needs now is just a lever.

Pushing off against the holographic body of her opponent, using it just like a lever, Rey also uses the tech like a pommel to launch her body beyond it. And then she starts a sprint back towards the centre of the ring as the super-sentient snarls behind her in hot pursuit because they began this by circling, but her opponent has not been circling Rey at all, she understands at last. After all this time she can finally fucking see it.

The Lasat’s been pushing her away from its only weakness. The thing it's actually been circling. And the one thing about it that she can exploit. With her weapon.

Rey barrels, and the Lasat barrels after her, and she can hear the snorts of its efforts increase behind her now, unsure of whether or not that’s because it’s gaining ground or because it’s suddenly become even more desperate, aware of what she finally knows.

The girl who left Jakku is no longer self-doubtful, panicked or afraid - her mind has finally cleared itself of all that shit - but the creature behind her is terrified as Rey’s eyes burn for the small, glinting, discus-shaped projector on the floor. Just one thing. It’s foible.

Rey reaches it first, too light and too lithe for the Lasat to catch and her feet leave the floor as she leaps the last of the distance, straight towards its locus, and drives the front blade of her saber right through the centre of its weakness, burning a hole through both flaw and floor as deep as her front blade is long. Guiding it in to the hilt of her weapon, until she can’t guide anymore.

The hiss of melting steel and the boil of blistering plastic marries then with a series of terrible rasping squeals from the now mortally-wounded creature. And as Rey lifts her eyes, and the last of the hologram blinks itself out, tears prick at their corners because she still isn’t able to sense it, but she doesn’t need to. She can see it all before it disappears. What it's feeling when it does. A tremendous amount of pain.

And for the first time since the fight began, Rey looks directly at Lando. Deep into his eyes. In her peripheral vision, she catches the Masters he’s with, fuming with ire at the loss of their fighter, but Lando is looking very, very pleased indeed, and he’s reaching in his pocket for her promised wage.

But Rey can still feel it. Pity for the first creature she’s destroyed in a fight for nothing more than pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we return to Ben and Finn.


	58. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 12. Part 6 of 6. Ben.

Almost as soon as it begins it’s over and for some reason now Ben’s alone on the other side of the small room, recovering his feet by the bottle of whiskey and staring at the shot glass he emptied twice before they started. Five minutes ago? Twenty? He’s not sure now. Time’s stopped behaving in a way he can trust.

The blades are still in his hands. He drops them, barely aware of the discord they make colliding with the Veshok floor. The oil in the wood spits briefly and the sound fades quickly as the weapons lose their energy, but Ben’s still spurred by the memory of Finn’s body on his.

Many firm parts against many firm places, even his mouth felt able. His lips, though, were indisputably soft, and it’s still a lot bothering to Ben as he crouches on the floor, his eyes still on the dregs at the base of the glass, starting to believe that if this continues then soon he might need a second refill.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“Did _I_ do that on purpose? Ben, _you_ did that on purpose. You should have stopped like you did the other two times.”

“You’re blaming _me_ for that? Because _you’re_ the one who eased off, Finn, I was rising, you should’ve…”

“I was _slow,_ that’s all, you said it yourself.”

“ _You_ said that. _I_ said you were soft. Fuck, Finn, don’t _stand_ over there and try to give me more lies.”

At the final word Finn visibly flinches. Ben lowers his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles to his hands as he starts to study his fingers as though he’s only just realised he has them. “We should leave, you know, just… go home. We’re done here, this is over, I don’t… I don’t feel like doing this anymore.”

But Ben doesn’t move. He is still waiting. And the soft squeak of the soles of Finn’s boots on the wood are growing nearer. Ben is still staring at his hands. They are still too large and artless. But maybe the wait has finally come to an end. Here on the floor.

“No,” Finn says quietly, dropping to his knees in front of Ben. “I need to tell you something now. I mean, I meant to tell it to you earlier, when we were still at the apartment, but I couldn’t do it then. You’re right. And I know you’re right… I didn’t tell you the truth, I didn’t talk to Rose this morning. I have no idea how she is. She might not be fine, I don’t know, I’m just… I’m just really worried about her, Ben.”

“I _know_ that, Finn,” Ben says quietly, looking up now from his hands. “Why _lie_ about it though? You know you can’t lie to me. You do know that, right?”

“I don’t lie all the time.”

“I didn’t say you did. I asked you _why_ you lied. And why you’d lie to me. I mean...”

Ben’s voice is just a whisper now.

“I _kissed_ you. And then you _kissed me back._ And it wasn’t like that time in the lounge room, it was a _real_ kiss, Finn.”

Finn sighs.

“I don’t know why I lie, Ben. I just do it sometimes.”

“It was a stupid thing to lie about, too. Like, why would you lie about that?”

“I already told you. I don’t know why I do it.”

“See,” Ben starts, looking back down at his hands again but not because the conversation is awkward anymore. He’s lacing and unlacing his fingers, thinking. “That just doesn’t make any sense. Surely you know why you lie?”

Ben's eyes return to Finn’s.

“Do you not like to talk about her in front of me?” Ben asks. “Is that it? You talk about her in front of Rey. Why don’t you ever talk about her in front of me?”

“I _do_ talk about Rose in front of you, Ben.”

“You didn’t earlier.”

“Because I was _stressed.”_

“Oh,” Ben murmurs, still gazing at Finn, wanting to sense his thoughts but remembering where that always leads them, and they’ve already led each other to a tricky enough spot right here on the floor. So Ben just nods slowly once or twice and then tries to continue to understand it all with words. “Okay, then... So… It’s when you’re stressed.Like maybe in a… Well, like being in a panic. Something like that?”

“Well… I guess, sometimes, yes. Maybe sometimes it is like that, but… It’s also sort of different, too.”

Ben nods again.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

Finn shifts on his knees and Ben watches a faint crease emerge between his brows. The men stare at each other for another few moments before Finn takes a deep breath, raises his brows while also somehow still managing to knit them together. And then he says,

“Rose and I have an open relationship.”

Ben blinks.

“What?”

Finn’s eyeing him very carefully now.

“You don’t know what that is?”

“I know what that is, Finn.”

“Well then... What do you mean, _what?_ If you know what that is... _What_ what?”

 _“What_ as in… I don’t know... What the fuck has prevented you from telling me that before now? Because really..."

“I don’t know.”

Ben rolls his eyes.

“Oh, come _on,_ Finn… Is that really the truth? You _really_ don’t know? Because we have talked about your relationship with her before, and that is a _big thing_ to forget to tell me about it.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was something I’d ever _need_ to tell you about it.”

 _“What?_ Finn, fuck off, how in the…”

 _“I’m sorry._ I thought… I don’t know, I just… I thought it was just something that would _pass._ Or… Maybe I thought that you were only ever just playing with me. Like _this…”_

Finn motions around the room, indicating the setting.

“...Like how _this_ is just playing. Right? I mean we don’t really fight here _._ It’s not even sparring, it’s… Well... Maybe I thought the way we flirt was just like this. Playing. I mean you remember that time with the eggs, right? That was playing. That _was_ playing, right?”

Ben shifts on his feet. His thighs are starting to cramp. He really should do more squats everyday, or maybe he’s just getting old.

“Wow,” Ben huffs, rocking forward to his knees and leaning back on his heels, stretching out his thighs and his lower back, hands spreading palm down across the weave of his jeans as he rubs away the tension in his upper legs. “Changing the subject much?”

He glances at Finn again.

“I answered your question,” Finn says plainly.

“Poorly.”

“I _answered_ it. You’re lucky to get an answer. I didn’t have to tell you.”

Ben lowers his gaze once more and then something occurs to him. Something else that feels old.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t do that though?” he asks, glancing up for another look at Finn. “I mean it’s not _right_ to lie. Lying is _wrong._ It’s the _wrong_ choice and you don’t make friends like that. People don’t like you when you tell them lies, and… And they figure it out. They figure out the truth. So...”

“Are you trying to give me a moral lesson now?” Finn interrupts. “Because I really don’t think that _you…”_

“No,” Ben says.

“I think you are, Ben.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

No, Ben is not sure. That did sound like a moral lesson to his ears but for some reason it did also feel like the right thing to try to do. To give one. And it still does.

“It’s just not right to lie, Finn,” Ben repeats. _“I_ don’t do it. And you shouldn’t do it either, especially… Well… I mean, seriously, didn’t anybody ever teach you that?”

“Ben, you lie all the time."

“Name one lie I told.”

“Well for _years_ you pretended to be somebody else.”

“That wasn’t lying,” Ben scoffs.

“Of course it was. You were hiding the truth.”

Ben points an index finger at him.

“That's not lying. It's keeping a secret. Those are different.”

“Ben, seriously, those are really not different…”

“Those are galaxies apart, Finn,” Ben asserts.

Finn’s looking down at his own hands now so Ben drops the one he's still got pointed at Finn back to his thigh.

“I talked about this once with your dad," Finn mumbles. "Did you know _that?”_

“No,” Ben says. “There's a lot in your head. I really haven't seen that much of it. Just one or two things."

The men stare blankly at each other for another few moments.

“So, I suppose you’re gonna tell me all about that conversation now, are you?”

“Well, no,” Finn says. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I’m not surprised at all he gave you moral lessons, by the way. Did he know where you came from?”

“Yeah, he knew.”

“Really? You told him?”

“No.”

Ben snorts.

“Why you doing that?” Finn asks. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” Ben sighs. “He was a hypocrite. That’s worse than being a liar.”

“Why you say that?”

Ben shakes his head.

“It just is. And he just was. And I guess that’s just part of it. I don’t know why. Smugglers are just born like that. Maybe that’s why.”

“Smugglers are just _born like_ _what_ exactly, Ben?”

He turns his head so fast in the direction of Rey’s voice that his neck cricks. He lifts his hand to rub at it, glaring at the pain. He _is_ getting old. He glares harder at that idea, as he stares at her leant against the door, hands deep in the pockets of his father’s old jacket, jiggling something hidden inside one of them. It sounds like credits. Ben opens his mouth to speak but Finn’s already asking the question he’s thinking.

“When’d _you_ get here?”

Rey just smiles as fairly slowly, a little groggily, the men both stand and walk towards her, collecting their things from the floor on the way including the rest of the whiskey. Well and truly ready now to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ends Night 12! Hope you enjoyed the read. Next chapter will be Rey POV and the start of Night 13. We are ticking along...


	59. More Than Just Grateful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 13. Part 1 of 4. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a little break to try to cope with some life stuff.
> 
> This chapter is loosely written in response to the March round of the Star Wars Rare Ships Challenge. The theme was ‘Creatures’ and my prompt was ‘Colo Claw Fish’. 
> 
> Parts of this are in a Finnlo drabble which you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227141). I wrote that, it wasn't working, so I re-worked it here.
> 
> This chapter is Reylo and there is some implied Finnlo that Ben is definitely feeling...
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. Something different. A little enigmatic, hopefully.

There’s a moonless, starless darkness and a gale. And Rey is squinting against all of its bitter ferocity and still can’t see a thing, even when she turns so her back is facing both the windstorm and the rainstorm, which together are lashing her body with a squall of many tongues, and none of them are gentle.

But at least for some reason now she can see. High cliffs. They seem to sparkle when bolts of electricity connect with the ocean behind her to light this place. Why isn’t she up there, in that escarpment, snugged away warm and safe and dry, instead of out here in this onslaught?

Rey supposes it’s because her feet won’t move, as hard as she’s trying to make them. They’re heavy as the scintillating ore in the cliffs and they’re clad in huge boots, that for some reason have her stood inside the remnants of some kind of long-dead creature.

She thinks she knows what it’s called but she can’t imagine how she knows that. Booted or not, her feet have never set a single toe on Odona. But shards of rib seem to tower above her like ghostly masts erect along the grey edge of the Cordaxian Sea. And they reach towards a blackness that at first seems flat but the longer Rey stares, the more endless it becomes: the sky.

When she looks down again at the eroding spine of the once great Colo Claw Fish, its forms make great swales in the sand where the calcite of corals and the shells of smaller creatures have ground beneath the fists of time for what must, by now, be eons, as it's all decayed together here along a shoreline that seems to stretch for as far as the bones are tall.

Rey feels tall. And broad. And her arms feel weighty and full of something. She’s watching parts of somebody from above, and she’s grateful for that. She’s grateful for the glimpses, and for the supple mouth on her neck which seems to contain what might very well be the only gentle tongue on this planet.

Soft warm licks from that are teasing at the skin beneath her ear, and they begin to make her think she’s much more than just grateful for this.

When they stop, and somebody pulls back and looks up at her with eyes that are impossibly bright - somehow still lit, even though the darkness here is absolute - Rey’s also much more than just grateful that he’s so beautiful.

That his gaze is as steady as his grip on her is strong, because now she knows who’s in her arms and also that they’re not hers.

_Ben?_

The mouth has returned to her neck. But there was a pressure at her front a moment ago and that’s gone, and a different kind of pressure is behind her now, digging its way awkwardly into the small of her back.

Rey opens her eyes. It’s day. She can tell by the colour of the light, filtering in through the slatted cedar venetians in the bedroom. She should still be asleep.

“Ben?” she whispers this time.

He’s in the middle of a soft grind against her from behind, and his mouth is leaving dove-like kisses across the nape of her neck while he murmurs something into it. And very soft breaths are coupling those very low sounds, words she can’t quite make out. They might not be words at all. They might just be sounds.

 _“Ben?”_ Rey whispers again.

The sounds stop, but the breaths and the mouth are still pressed there at the back of her.

“Are you awake?” she asks, her voice remaining low as she shifts against Ben’s erection, because that is still pressing there at the back of her, too.

“Hm?”

“Are you awake?” she repeats. “I was dreaming...”

“Mm,” Ben mumbles. “I was… I was dreaming, too.”

Rey rolls over to face him. His head is close, so she nuzzles the tip of her nose against his. Kisses his mouth. Then she reaches out to touch the warm bare skin of his chest. Strokes the shallow between his pecs.

“What about?” Rey asks, although she already has a very convincing inkling.

“Odona.”

Rey trails the tips of her fingers down the front of Ben’s body until she finds the hot hard length of him. She runs her fingers along it while he looks back at her with eyes that plead with her to not look away, so she doesn’t. But she does close her hand around his cock in a fist, and he does wrap his own around that. More than just gratefully.

“I dreamt about it, too.”

It’s slightly awkward from this angle, she could shift her wrist. But his eyes are still pleading. So Rey lets Ben take her hand with his just like this, and together they roll his foreskin back and forth in a routine, over the glans of his cock.

“I think I dreamt I _was_ you.”

The speed of his hand has tripled hers by now, and there’s nothing routine about any of this anymore. Now it’s convulsive and urgent and Ben’s eyes are wide. There’s just one more thing she knows he needs to hear. Needs her to say.

“And Finn was there.”

He’s been silent through this but now she has finished he’s finishing too. Ben groans as their hands slip up and down him, still together. His warm spend patterning the bed-sheet between them until, when it’s over, he rolls to his back and Rey climbs him, careful to avoid the not insubstantial mess.

Rey kisses Ben’s mouth while his hand searches lamely between her thighs, but instead she takes a hold of him from there now, from his hand, and she brings him to her mouth.

“Ben?” Rey asks, as she starts to suck each of his long fingers clean. They're still just a little bit slippy.

“Mm?”

“We had the same dream.”

His lids are heavy, but he’s still lucid, and watching her pause mid-suck. 

“Kiss me again,” Ben mumbles, as Rey withdraws him slowly from her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Next chapter is Finn.


	60. Shoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 13. Part 2 of 4. Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone in the star-wars-multi-shippers Discord server who continue to put up with me asking for advice about this fic. I really appreciate you <3
> 
> This is partially inspired by some Discord chat about sleep paralysis and [this idea which comes from @shame-wars that Finn is the type to have nightmares.](https://shamewars.tumblr.com/post/136602817788/finn-strikes-me-as-the-type-to-have-nightmares)
> 
> Trigger warning for non-explicit references to pregnancy in this chapter. There's no overt mention, but in one place it is what Finn and Rose are talking about.
> 
> This was really fun to write, I've missed writing Rose. I hope you enjoy the read.

“Doom and dark.”

“Well,” Rose says while Finn watches her image on the palm-sized screen and waits for her reaction, as though it means the difference between his own life and death, and as though it’s surprising that he's still struggling not to think in those grim terms, no matter how many times he's tried to tell himself he doesn't need to anymore. “That’s a different set of pipes.”

“It is?”

 _“Dark_ is certainly different, honey, yes. I’ve only ever heard you say _doom_ before now about your night terrors.”

“It just felt like something was around me this time, too. Not just sitting on my chest, like always...”

Finn trails off, remembering the fear, but also the utter lack of anything that made him feel it.

“That always happens when it happens though, honey. Like a dream you can’t remember. Try to think about it like that. It’s just a kind of nightmare you can’t see. That’s all.”

A chill travels through him again.

“I know it’s scary,” she reassures, her voice still hushed. “Oh, honey, I wish I could hold you.”

“I wish that too, Rose. So much...”

He reaches out for the holopad and pulls it closer, pulls her closer. He can’t touch her - she’s just an image - but the smile she’s giving him now is as warm as he remembers her skin is when he can.

“So, what are you doing?” he murmurs.

“Just eating. And then I’m gonna go fix something.”

“Is there still a lot of broken shit around?”

“Not really. There are some things, I guess, but most things I just mess up and then fix again, in different combinations. Good practise. And it keeps me busy. Anyway, how’s Rey?”

“She’s fine. She got a job.”

“A _job?_ Well what the fuck does she need one of those for? Jedi don’t need jobs. Do they?”

“She wanted one, apparently. Or that’s what she said when me and Ben asked her.”

“Who’s she working for?”

“Don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”

“Hmm… So, how’s Ben?”

“He’s alright. I mean, I told you before.”

“The feelings?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me _more_.”

“Rose, you are as bad as Rey, you know that?”

He watches her on the screen throw her head back and laugh out loud.

“Shh, they’re sleeping,” Finn warns, but he’s close to laughing, too. She’s infectious.

“Oh, yeah, I bet they're sleeping. I bet they’re sleeping _really, really_ _hard...”_

“Seriously,” Finn says, forcing himself to sober because his terror’s allayed but there’s still something there that’s troubling. “Ben seems really confused, and not just about that, about other things, too.”

Rose sighs.

“Finn, Ben is still really messed up. And he is gonna stay messed up for awhile, honey. I mean _you_ are, right? Who has _night_ terrors? Most people don’t. And you’re having those and you didn’t even _kill_ anyone. I mean, just imagine what it would be like if...”

“I _did_ kill people, Rose.”

“It was a war, Finn. We all did. We lived through a war and that’s just what happens in wars. People do kill each other. And people do die.”

Although he can, Finn doesn’t need to see it on the screen to understand that Rose is remembering Paige now. He can hear it in her voice. It's grown husky.

“What I mean to say is,” she braves, “Ben killed his _father._  That's not the same as killing someone who's trying to kill you in a war. And that in itself would mess a person up. But if that person was messed up anyway, and then they did _that?_ Well, _fuck._ If that doesn’t mess you up even more, I don’t know what does. I mean it’s not just losing them. It’s living with the knowledge that it was you. Your hands... Finn, Ben is going through that, and that shit has gotta be heavy. And he’s still not talking to his mother, really...”

“We keep talking about his dad.”

“You do?”

“Yup. And a few nights ago I told him some things about… Well, I told Ben I’m nervous, Rose, because I am. And now I need to tell you that, too. And I’m sorry I didn't do it earlier.”

“Oh, honey, I know you’re nervous,” she says, gently.

“You do?”

“Of _course_ I do. I’m nervous, too. I’m just trying not to think about it because, well, you know. It’s a _good_ thing. And there’ve been so few.”

“So, that’s why you're keeping yourself so busy?” Finn asks.

“Yeah. But I would be staying busy anyway, you know me. As soon as there's something more useful to do, I'll be doing it. I’m just so grateful for this, really. And grateful to you for helping me.”

“Me too,” he whispers. “I’m grateful, too.”

“Finn?”

“Rose?”

“It’s okay. You know that, don’t you? The feelings _and_ the nervous?”

“I know that. Thank you. Thank you for saying that. You're so good to me, Rose.”

“And I mean, I understand about the feelings. I have a drive, too.”

Finn grins.

“I know you do.”

“And you know who’s here.”

“I do.”

“And we need to look after ourselves, as well as look after each other, _so_ we can look after each other.”

“Yep. I know. But, it’s not just up to me, that’s what I’ve been trying to say. _He’s_ _confused._ And that’s… Well, _that’s_ confusing. That's confusing me a lot, too.”

“Hmm… Okay, well, did you tell Rey? Talk to her about it?”

“Some of it. Not all. But she knows about it all, I think.”

“It would be good to talk to Rey, too. Have you kissed him?”

“Yeah. Not much, though. And… Well, kind of just by accident.”

“By _accident?”_ Rose guffaws, and Finn hushes her again. “Sorry… So, Rey knows this? Or is this the _I think_ part? She might not know this?”

“I think she does know this. I mean, I told you already about that first time.”

“The _near_ kiss?”

“Yeah. But this one was different.”

“She didn’t see this one?”

“No.”

“And neither of you two told her?”

“Well, I didn’t. No. He might’ve, though. I don't know. And I mean, they have that weird connection, too, so...”

“Mind-reading?”

“Yeah. And other stuff. Weird stuff, Rose. Force stuff.”

“Does he do that to you?”

“What? Mind-reading? Or weird Force stuff?”

“Well, I guess I meant the mind-reading, but…”

“He used to. But I don’t let him anymore. I tell him he needs to ask, if he wants to know, because that shit is simply not fair. And I told him that, too. So, don’t you worry, Rose. I got it.”

“You _Dom,”_ Rose says, laughing again, then reigning it in quickly, and whispering the last part with glee. “You’re _domming_ Ben, Finn.”

“No, I’m not,” he chuckles. “I mean really though, a blanket could dom that man, he’s just so subby. It’s not like it’s hard.”

“Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"You need to talk to Rey. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't assume she knows."

"Alright."

Rose sighs.

"I’m just so glad you’re all together there, safe. I miss you _all.”_

“We miss you, too.”

“I’m gonna have to go, honey. This thing is running out of battery again. I think I might need another one.”

“I’m sorry again about yesterday, Rose. And holo’ing so early today.”

“Anytime is fine, honey, anytime. You'll be able to get back to sleep?"

"I think so."

"If you can't you can holo again if you need to. Or go wake them. If you're really scared. Okay?"

"Yep."

"Goodnight Finn.”

“Goodnight Rose. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Aha.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Be good to Ben. And tell Rey _hi_. And _talk_ to her.”

“Yep.”

The feed zaps out and the darkness that follows is so deep Finn has to blink his eyes for several minutes just to find his bearings. Eventually the outline of the tabletop emerges. He sets the holopad down there, and then snuggles back down on the sofa beneath the surepp blanket on his side, still gazing out across the lounge, remembering Rose, and waiting for sleep to return.

And after awhile, once his eyes have had time to adjust a lot more to the almost dark space of the lounge room he sleeps in, Finn notices the outline of Ben, silhouetted in the doorway. He can just make out what he's wearing. Just a pair of black trunks. And at first Finn thinks he’s dreaming. But Finn doesn’t dream. He only ever has terrors. So it can't be that, it can’t be a dream. Ben must really be there. Here.

“Oh,” Finn murmurs, understanding that, and then understanding that he’s said that aloud, so he adds. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Ben answers.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Ah, no. I mean, yeah. I mean... Nevermind. I had a dream, actually. And then...”

Behind Ben the bedroom door is still open. Ben’s only halfway through it. Is he on his way to the bathroom? Maybe Rose was right, have they just…? And he’s…? Finn averts his eyes.

“Oh,” he repeats, in a completely different tone. “Oh, okay. Well, if you’re washing then go for it. I need to go back to sleep, anyway. I could get a few more hours.”

“I wasn’t gonna wash,” Ben says. “But maybe I should, I guess.”

Ben closes the bedroom door quietly and makes a move for the bathroom, but he stops after just a few paces.

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“I need to tell you something. Or… Well… I want to. I want to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Finn says, thinking again of Rose and what she said about being good to Ben. “Okay, sure, you can shoot. I'm listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up Finn and Ben try to plan a date! Woot! I'm so excited! Thinking about that will get me through the next week, I'm not even kidding XD


	61. That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 13. Part 3 of 4. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this one was simple but actually it took an age to figure out. This one is like #59 in that it draws a bit again on [this drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227141). 
> 
> I just invented the location of Odona and the particulars of the system. There's really not that much available in canon about it. The Dathomirian/Zabrak stuff seems to fit canonverse though I think...

“Have you ever heard of Odona?"

“Odona?” Finn echoes. “You mean the planet, right?”

“Right.”

“It’s in the Dark System, right?”

“Right.”

“Completely dark all the time?”

“Yeah.”

“No stars, no moons, no suns…”

“Yeah, Finn," Ben sighs, a little wearily. "It's dark.”

He pads over to where Finn still rests.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” he asks, nodding at the edge of the sofa.

“Sure. You want some blanket? Feels cold out there now."

He sits down and Finn extends one edge of the blanket towards him, moving over and making room for Ben, who doesn’t think twice about getting underneath it because Finn is right. It does feel cold. And beneath the blanket the air seems warm when it rushes out to meet him.

Ben assumes a pose that’s almost a mirror of Finn’s. Almost but for the elbow he’s got bent so his head can rest on the heel of his palm, because there’s only one pillow and it’s small. Just enough for one head. Not really enough for two.

But only until Finn wriggles over some more and after that he looks at the space he’s made, there on the edge of the pillow for Ben. And then he looks at Ben, who considers that space for a moment. But only a moment.

Because soon Ben settles his cheek down just there, still warm from the heat of Finn’s body and just as cosy as further down too, deep below the soft loops of woven surepp wool where the rest of Ben and Finn lie just as cosy as their heads.

“They used to threaten us with Odona, did you know that?” Finn murmurs across the pillow to Ben. “Tell us that’s where we’d be sent for reconditioning, but nobody ever believed it was true, because nobody ever really believed that a place like that could exist. Just all in darkness like that, all the time. I mean how does that work? How do things grow like that? _Do_ things grow like that?”

“Yeah, sure they do,” Ben says, keeping his voice as quiet as Finn’s. “Not all things need light to grow. I haven’t heard that before, though. That reconditioning thing you just said? Military never knew about Odona, that story’s not true. If they really used to say that to you, well they were lying through their foul teeth.”

“So, you’ve been there then? To Odona?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that what you dreamt about? Why you mentioned it?”

“Yeah.”

 _“Shit,_ Ben... A dream about that place would have woken me, too... They always made it sound so terrible, like the worst place in the galaxy...”

“Odona’s not bad. It’s kind of interesting, actually. It’s not why I woke.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, why’d you wake then?”

Ben takes a deep breath. It’s easier to say this without being able to really see Finn properly. The light in the lounge room is still quite low and all he can really make out are outlines. It’s almost like imagining.

Imagining Finn’s there. Imagining the insteps of his feet are snugging inside Finn’s. And imagining his voice is whispering the words he wants said.

“I dreamt that we were there together. Just us, no one else. No Rey or Rose, just you and me. Standing on a beach in the dark.”

A silence so lengthy follows that Ben begins to wonder if maybe he did just imagine the words. Maybe they really were just thoughts, like the dream was just thoughts.

But Ben knows better than that about both things, the words and the dream. And he’s come halfway now, so he might as well finish it, because it’s still very dark and although he can still feel Finn beside him, Ben still feels very much like he’s only really talking to outlines.

“And you were killing someone, Finn. And I was watching you and you looked beautiful. And after you were finished, you wanted me. And I wanted you. Very much.”

And then he's sure he'd been woken, that Rey had woken him. But Ben’s not about to add that.

Instead he’s going to wait for Finn again in the hope he’ll take over. Say something that validates all the things in his head and in his heart that he's just expressed, because Finn is good at talking and surely someone like that knows what to say next. What to do next.

But for a long time there’s nothing else but continuing silence between them, and although Finn’s body is still there beside him Ben’s heart feels like it’s racing alone. He swallows again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Please, Finn, just say something.”

“It was really just us? In your dream?”

“Vision,” Ben admits. “Yes. Us and the Dathomirian.”

“The _what?”_

“Oh,” Ben murmurs, sensing it but unintentionally, and he hopes Finn doesn’t notice because he knows Finn doesn’t like that, even when it’s unintentional. “You don’t know it by that name...”

“Ben, you better not be...”

“Zabrak,” Ben explains, quickly. “They’re a rare species of Zabrak. That’s what you were killing. Or what _we_ were. We were killing it together but I couldn’t finish it. I needed you to do that.”

“Holy shit, Ben, no wonder you have broken sleep.”

He feels Finn move beside him. Finn's feet shift away, he’s rolling to his back. Ben can see the outline of his face in profile now, staring up at the dark ceiling above them.

“What do you mean a _vision,_ though? Like, what does that mean  _really?_  That tomorrow night we're gonna go out and kill some… _Dathomirian?”_

“Well, a vision is just sight. Some kind of sight, like insight. And sometimes it’s sighting the future. Sure.”

“I don’t wanna have anything to do with killing _anything_ anymore if I can help it, Ben. This is _post_ -war. It’s supposed to be peaceful.”

“Well, you’re jumping to conclusions now,” Ben says, trying to sound reassuring, but he can still sense tension radiating from Finn like his body’s warmth.

 _“Jumping to conclusions?_ Ben, I’m pretty fucking sure that if I ever killed a Dathomirian on Odona - a thing I’ve never even heard of, and a place I’ve never even been to - that I would have fucking remembered that, don’t you? So it has to be the future. Doesn’t it?”

“No,” Ben says. "Not necessarily."

Cautiously Ben shifts his foot until just the very tips of his toes find the edge of one of Finn’s feet again.

"Finn?”

“What?”

“Would… Would you like to go there with me?”

“To _Odona?”_

“Yeah.”

 _“Hell,_ no.”

Finn raises his knee and shifts his foot away from Ben's, creating a little gap beneath his bent knee when he does. Ben tucks his own knees in under that space, and shifts just a little closer to Finn’s shoulder.

“Please, Finn?”

Finn turns his face back to Ben's and it’s still very dim in the lounge room but Ben notices now the tiny lights reflecting in Finn’s eyes. Faintly red. The colour of diodes. Ben stares at them.

“No fucking way, Ben," Finn's saying. "I mean, aside from what you just told me, which I’m still really freaked out about by the way, Odona is _hostile._ I am _not_ going there, no way. _No.”_

“Don’t you wanna go _somewhere_ though?” Ben asks, still looking across through the dark at the tiny red reflections, and still with his knees tucked up below Finn’s raised one. "Aren’t you getting bored here?”

“Not _that_ bored.”

“Finn, it’s _not that bad.”_

“In comparison to what? The inside of a sarlacc? Because sure, in comparison to that I’m sure it’s _not that bad at_ _all...”_

In the darkness Ben smiles, even though Finn is still saying no. He doesn't care. He's not ready to give up yet, on whatever it is he's doing. He's got an idea of what it is. He's done it before. Is it that, though? Really?

“Well, where do _you_ wanna go, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Ben reaches out with his hand and touches Finn’s shoulder. He’s only wearing trunks on his bottom half, just like Ben, but on top he's got on the stucco-coloured V-neck he always sleeps in, the one Ben gave him that used to belong to his father. Very lightly, Ben begins to feel the weave of it in the dark with just the tips of his fingers.

“If you don’t like Odona, where _do_ you like?" Ben asks. "Where can I take you? I wanna _take_ you somewhere, Finn. By ourselves. Not just… Not just like a set-up. Or not just winding up at the fight club when Rey’s busy... Something... You know… And... Well, somewhere _other_ than this garbage planet...”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Ben blinks. Yes. He is doing that. This is that. This is asking Finn out.

“Yes.”

“I just don’t get why you’re picking Odona.”

“I wanna take you because I like it there, Finn. I wanna show it to you. It’s not scary, I promise, it’s just different. So... Will you go with me? Please? _”_

Ben hears Finn inhale very deeply beside him. Ben’s holding his own breath, too.

“Well... Just say I did wanna go,” Finn muses, slowly releasing the breath, and Ben does, too. “Even though it’s dark and probably the least fun-sounding place I can imagine to be _very_ honest with you… How would we even get there? I mean if we’re seen leaving, that’s it, right? When we leave this planet, Ben, we leave it forever. So how do we leave and come back? I mean, sure. Maybe I do wanna go with you, but... Well... How you gonna solve _that_ one? Huh?”

Ben’s stomach does a little flip. He tucks his knees up further so the tops of his thighs press against the undersides of Finn’s. His fingers make their way below the sleeve of Finn’s shirt and touch there, against his warm bare skin, just very lightly. 

”Finn?” Ben whispers.

”Yeah?”

“Have you ever heard of holo-hotels?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea what those are, but we'll find out soon! Thanks for reading! I thought when I first posted this chapter that this was it for Night 13 but we need one more or the timeline won’t make sense! So Part 4 will happen next, still Rey and Finn having a long-overdue chat, mostly about Ben.


	62. Limitations Of Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 13. Part 4 of 4. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a lot to include at this point in the story and I wanted to keep it all from Rey’s POV so this read is a little longer than usual. 
> 
> I also realised this part needed to be told still within Night 13 or there would be too much time-jumping and not enough opportunity to indulge in Finnlo from Rey's POV (because it's just too fun to write that and frankly that was the whole point of planning this part of the story, so to suddenly skim over it would have been completely counter-productive!) so here is the true conclusion to Night 13. 
> 
> (And for real it completely did my head in for awhile there trying to work out what the hell time it is when they wake up halfway through a day, and what happens after that; long story short *don't* think about it too hard!)
> 
> Essentially, there is a time-jump here of maybe just four or so hours between the end of last chapter and the start of this one. Hope it makes sense!

Rey wakes to the soft scurrying sounds created by the commotion Air makes when the cat wants to go outside. A series of intermittent scampers and thumps mingled with the noise of the rug in the lounge skidding about under paws. And the whole rowdy arrangement is punctuated by either the occasional silence or the occasional mew, depending on no rational pattern that Rey can determine. Even when she tries very hard to.

 _I guess it’s just a weird thing cats do,_ Rey concludes to herself for not the first time as she rolls onto her back, only mildly surprised when she discovers Ben’s gone.

His physical absence goes some way to explaining the chill she’s feeling now. Ben’s side of the bed is cold, as though he’s not been there for hours, but Rey can sense him when she reaches through the Force. Not really gone at all. Still very close.

A smile begins to sweep its way across her face because she knows exactly where he is. Rey sits up. She hugs the sheets and blankets tight to her bare chest and searches the floor of the frigid bedroom for something warm to wear. She spies Ben’s black V-neck in a rumpled heap in the corner.

 _That’ll do,_ Rey figures, picking it up and pulling it on.

In the wardrobe’s second-drawer-down she finds briefs and socks and pulls them on too, supposing she could also cover her legs for extra warmth with something like trousers, but she’s too curious, about knowing two things: the source of the uncharacteristic cold in the room and what Ben and Finn are doing right now, the latter preferably in explicit detail.

Very quietly, Rey opens the door and peeks around its edge, and the first thing she sees is actually Air, lying in the middle of a dishevelled-looking rug, all paws tucked beneath itself. The cat looks up at Rey with expectant eyes.

“Oh, to be you,” she huffs, creeping through the doorway as stealthily as she can, and peering across the still-darkened room to the sofa. “Or a surveillance droid… Wait just a minute... I just need to see...”

It looks a little awkward. There certainly do seem to be a lot of limbs akimbo. Mostly Ben’s because his are the longest and the sofa is long, too, but it’s not nearly long enough. And as she grasps a hold of that idea, the smile that’s been gracing Rey's face falters for a moment as something about this find tugs at her heart unexpectedly. The way they're so obviously cramped and yet so clearly indifferent to the physical limitations of space. Those simply don't matter to them anymore.

Ben’s closest, curled around Finn who lies on his back with one knee raised. They’re facing each other, and they’re both still sound asleep, for all intents and purposes dead to the galaxy, having somehow slept the whole way through Air’s earlier ruckus on the rug. And having also withstood the sharp drop in temperature that's apparently occurred throughout the latter part of the day. But Ben and Finn lie so close together Rey doubts they've felt a thing in that time. Except perhaps the obvious.

And she’s not sure for how long she stands there looking on, nothing but enamoured of the pair of them after that, but eventually Rey becomes aware that at some point Air has left the mussed up rug, and is winding its way between her ankles, mewing again.

“Oh,” Rey breathes. “I did say that, didn’t I? You’re right…”

Still in a kind of torpor Rey creeps to the front door and lets the cat out, wondering if it needs an usher down the internal flight of stairs to the entranceway. It’s evening and although during the day the lower doors at street level are always open, at night they’re closed, by who Rey doesn’t know. But she can’t leave Ben and Finn now to find out. So for the first time in seven nights, Rey lets the one-eared cat go. Out into the dark streets of the Moon again, without her.

Because what Rey really wants now is just to stay here and wake the men. And after that maybe ask them one or two or three hundred questions. She reopens the front door by several inches then shuts it, much more firmly this time than the first. Finn stirs, but he doesn’t rouse, and Ben doesn’t move an eyelid. Rey frowns and does it again, this time harder and very much louder. And they startle, Ben so rapidly he rolls right off the sofa’s edge.

“Hi!” Rey breezes, stomping away from the front door theatrically, no boots, just socks, but she’s forgotten all that in her excitement. “I just got back from my walk.”

“Without trousers?” Ben grumbles, starting to gather his limbs from their collision with the laminex floorboards and glaring across the room at her, while behind him Finn rises, yawning hugely.

Rey looks down at her trouser-less legs. She’d forgotten that, too.

“Oh, _what,_ Ben?” she huffs, blushing furiously because for some reason she’s still half-attempting to pull off this ridiculous lie. “Like I can’t go out walking without trousers on if I want to? You know, women should be free to exercise in _whatever_ they want to, or _don’t_ want to, without fear of being judged about it by you.”

“Rey?” Finn mumbles. “Seriously… If you're up anyway, can you please put caf on, though?”

“And maybe after that, trousers,” Ben adds, whose glare, to Rey’s relief, has upgraded by now to a smirk. “I need a shower.”

Consistent with hours of sleep on a sofa, Ben moves with difficulty as Rey watches him collect the rest of himself from the floor, looking exceedingly tired. He lumbers stiffly to the bathroom, tussling his hair as he goes, and running a hand over his bristled face. And it’s not lost on Rey then that he’s still wearing trunks. But even so as soon as the bathroom door closes, she races for Finn.

“You _have_ to tell me this story,” she blurts out all in a rush, while tucking her goose-fleshed knees beneath the blanket to warm them, and moving in as close as she can to Finn, because the air inside the apartment is still freezing but he feels very warm, still also wearing trunks, plus the borrowed shirt he slept in.

“Nothing,” he manages, through another enormous yawn as he shakes his head slowly to emphasise the point and rubs around his right eye with a bent knuckle.

Rey frowns. More and more the evidence here is not adding up to the sum she hoped it would.

“You and Ben both seem very tired this morning, though,” she tries to push anyway, still determined to make more out of this than is probably possible.

“Mm, no,” Finn mumbles. “I’m fine. And Ben’s always tired. That’s normal.”

“He doesn’t normally oversleep, though,” Rey tries again.

“Well, that’s true.”

“So…?”

“Rey, nothing happened. I mean, I know it doesn’t really look like that, but I swear nothing did.”

She searches Finn’s face. There’s a look in his eyes she remembers. And Rey wonders then if maybe this confrontational strategy that she seems to adopt every time she tries to talk to Finn about what goes on between he and Ben when she's not there is perhaps the wrong one.

“Still feel like caf?” Rey asks, changing tack.

“You bet. Make it strong?”

Rey smiles. A lot more calmly than she made her way to the sofa, Rey heads to the kitchenette and clashes things around in there for a minute or two until the percolator is filled and warming on the stove.

“Finn?” she calls, while pouring two cups of steaming hot liquid when it’s ready. “Did you or Ben turn off the heat? It’s positively _frigid_ tonight.”

“Nope. But I’ve been cold since I talked to Rose. Diode's still on, but come to think of it I can't hear it... You know how the vents make that weird rattle sound?”

 _Conductor fault maybe,_ Rey thinks to herself, as she returns to the sofa with their cups.

"Maybe we could look at it tonight,” she muses, passing Finn his drink. “Stay in and fix it, and catch up on sleep... So, you holo’d Rose? That would’ve been nice.”

Carefully, Rey climbs across the sofa and re-settles down next to Finn’s warmth. He’s nursing his cup in his hands, taking tiny sips, and speaking between them.

“Yeah, it was a relief… Plus I woke way too early… Had another terror.”

“Oh,” Rey murmurs, blowing across the top of her cup to cool it. “I remember you talking about those... I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” he answers. “But after we finished speaking, Ben was just sort of there… And it was cold then, too… Heat must have been out by then… So anyway, we just kind of lay here and talked a long time… Until we fell asleep… I think that’s what happened... Next thing I knew, you were over there making a huge fuss.”

“I _wasn’t_ doing that,” Rey scoffs.

Finn raises his eyebrows and she knows he sees right through her.

“Oh, alright then, maybe I was...”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” Finn says, quietly. “Finding us out here in the way you did.”

 _“Finn._ You _know_ I’m not mad about that. Don't you? I watched him nearly _kiss_ you that time, remember? And then there was the Meltdown, I wanted the two of you to go there... And then last night, at the fight club... When I left the two of you alone? That wasn’t by accident Finn. I mean I had something to do, but still...”

“So he _did_ tell you what happened there then? I wondered if he did.”

“Finn,” Rey says, gently. “Ben doesn’t need to tell me things like that. He’s so easy to read… I mean most of the time I try not to do it, to be honest… But there are some things I know he can’t say, but wishes he could. You know? So he needs me to do it sometimes, and… Well, I suppose we’re kind of the same like that. We always will be.”

“Sure,” Finn says, nodding. “But still, Rey, about that... I...”

He trails off, still looking at her with wide eyes, and her own stare back, just as earnest. And the thing in her heart tugs again until at last she completely understands this. Understands that she has never actually told Finn any of this explicitly. Nothing of how she feels about he and Ben, really. But that he needs for her to. And that until she does - until she gives him her express permission - he will always feel what she can sense he’s feeling now in volumes. Guilt.

“Oh, Finn… I’m sorry…”

Not even bothering to drain her cup, or even set it down, Rey throws her arms around Finn’s neck and holds him tighter than she thinks she ever has.

“Finn, I _want_ you to be with Ben, if that’s what you want, too. He’s _dreaming_ about you, has he told you any of that?”

Rey draws away to study him again, in part to judge his reaction, but also because now she realises how much she needs to show Finn for him to completely understand her; she loves him as much, but Finn is not Ben.

“Oh, holy fuck, Finn, I’m _so_ sorry...”

In her earlier haste to hold him, she’s spilt his caf all over his borrowed shirt, and they both look down at the stain now seeping across the front of it. Motionless, and still caught up in the emotion of realising that they’re not just reading the same page, after all this time, but the very same words as well.

“It’s fine,” Finn offers, smiling at Rey as she tries to daub away the mess she’s made with her own borrowed shirt. Ben’s shirt. “You know, I guess I did know that, really… I just wasn’t _completely_ sure, Rey... And Rose thought it was a good idea to talk to you, too. Just to check...”

Rey throws her arms around Finn again, nothing short of beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3
> 
> Next chapter is Finnlo date night to holo-Odona!


	63. Practise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 14. Part 1 of 6. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reylo intro to Night 14 and just a bit of context for what's coming up. Nervous Ben confiding in Rey while she sleeps.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the read <3

For nearly two weeks they’ve slept together here for at least the better part of every day. Between the not exactly sensible satin of the sheets Ben chose well over a year ago now. In the days and nights when he’d abscond from the First Order and Rey would Force-connect from Kashyyyk. And all those things - sheets and escaping and Rey - were just like dreams.

Ben re-tucks his knees beneath the back of Rey’s thighs and nuzzles the nape of her sleeping neck with the tip of his nose, breathing her in as he kisses down her skin from there to her shoulder's curve. Against his lips she feels much colder here than the rest of her warmest parts, which Ben knows he's not dreaming are now held tight against his own.

Sometimes it’s nice just to sense her, and use the bond to catch things she can’t or won’t say. But other times he likes to hear her voice. It’s soothing and reassuring and it reminds him of things he can’t find words for, either. But more and more Ben’s learning to like his own voice, too. Not just how it sounds, how it feels as well. To say things to someone in a whisper. Especially if that someone is special. And if the things that need saying are difficult.

“Rey?”

He shifts his hand and begins to trace with his fingertips around the echoed shapes of the scar on her upper arm.

“Does this ever cause you pain?”

Sometimes Ben has physical pain. Last night, in his hips, when he rolled off the sofa. That’s one example. The night before that, in his thighs, when he knelt too long with Finn on the Veshok floor. That’s another.

And Ben also has pain that’s more like an echo; like the shapes of her scar. Pain that returns to haunt him and remind him of things he’ll never escape. Not the concrete things, though. Not the floors. Not the things that are fixed and unyielding. It’s the memories Ben can’t dodge, and the things he can’t forget. The echoes inside his head of things he's said and can't take back.

“Last night while you were sleeping I asked Finn if he’d go with me someplace. Just us. Just me and him. And not you too, Rey.”

She doesn’t stir when Ben kisses her again.

“So I won't be here tomorrow night because he said he'd go. We’re gonna go, for a whole day. Do you remember that place I saw? We’re gonna go there. I'm gonna take him there. I need to. I feel it...”

That kind of pain doesn’t hurt, it aches. And it stays with him for longer than the kind that only hurts, because it runs deep. As deep as the darkest parts of his heart like a thing you can’t cure, even sometimes with time, Ben doesn’t think. And he's wondered before if perhaps this is just what it means to get old. That all these aches are really just tolls of age. Of a head full of memories he’d sometimes rather not have, but does. And has to deal with. Try to sort out. Understand.

Ben shifts a little to look at Rey, and he shifts her a little against his chest. Now he can see a little more clearly into her sleeping face.

“Finn was worried about it, though,” Ben continues, his voice still only a whisper. “I want you to know that. And him, like that, reminded me of you because you’d probably be worried, too, if I asked you. So we won't go off-world, we'll just stay here. Okay? We’ll just choose a holo-hotel from a bunch I've seen in a sub-district downtown. We’ve walked by there, Rey, you’ve seen them, too. Maybe you remember...”

Ben pauses to study her again. She’s adjusted the position of her head so that now her cheek is pressed flat to his upper chest. Still breathing deeply. Her mouth slightly ajar.

“Sweetheart,” Ben murmurs, placing his lips to her forehead. “There's a little alley. Just before the fight club. When you look down that, as we go past, it's all coloured teal. And there are signs, lots of lights. Maybe one day we could go there, too...”

“Ben?”

Her voice is so quiet that at first Ben wonders if he’s really heard it at all. Perhaps that was only a thought. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, especially when they’re this physically close and boundaries between them don’t seem to exist. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where she ends and he begins. 

“Yes?"

"Why do you think I'd like it?"

“The holo-hotel?”

“No,” she mumbles. “Odona.”

“Oh,” Ben breathes. “Because it's beautiful, Rey. All that darkness... Didn’t you think so, too?”

She stirs some more against his chest, but her eyes remain closed. He thinks she’s still listening. He could sense, to check for that. To check that she really is still hearing. But this is more interesting, isn’t it? And isn’t it practise, too? Is he practising now? Practising understanding someone without sensing.

“Rey?”

“Mm?”

“Well?”

She opens her eyes and at last they meet his. Ben watches Rey lift one hand to his face, then feels her trace the curve of his lower lip with the pads of her first two fingers. Slowly. Until she inserts the tip of one inside his mouth, sliding it in softly. And Ben closes his lips around her gently and sucks.

“I know what you’re doing,” Rey murmurs, her gaze a little wicked now. Beautiful. As beautiful as Odona.

 _What am I doing?_ Ben thinks to her through the bond, because his mouth is still full of her finger.

“Practising,” Rey whispers, and withdraws herself from his mouth.

“Well, do you?” he murmurs.

“Do I what?” she asks, and he thinks now that she’s teasing. But he asks her again anyway, because he needs to know.

“Do you think it’s beautiful, too?”

“I think,” Rey says, with eyes that are filled with truth, “That it looks like a place where things could get lost if they needed to do that for awhile.”

“What kinds of things?”

“The kinds of things that don’t need light. That although they’re nice to look at, well… They don’t always need to be seen. Because you already know they’re there. Say, like… Dreams. Feelings. Those kinds of things, Ben.”

She wriggles around in his arms and her hands flatten against his pecs. They press him down firm on the mattress until his back is flat against it, and until Rey has positioned herself above him. Ben can feel her knees settling either side of his hips, but all he can see is her face as she brings that close enough to his waiting mouth now to kiss him. And just before she does he thinks he says _I love you._

But it might be just a thought. Sent again to her through the bond they still use when he’s not practising. Ben’s not sure. They’re so close. As her mouth surrounds his upper lip, and the tip of her tongue touches him just inside it, Ben’s got that feeling again that makes it hard to tell where he ends and she begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! So I think that’s everybody up to speed with this plan now... Next chapter begins with Finn and Ben in the alley.


	64. Services And Selections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 14. Part 2 of 6. Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little time jump here which I hope is explained throughout the read. Hope you enjoy it.

Finn rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck and lowers his eyes to a pavement that’s suddenly fascinating, soaked in some combination of water, oil and an assortment of other fluids he probably shouldn’t really think too much about the origins of as a perturbed Ben whips around and marches back to the mouth of the alley for the dozenth time. And Finn doesn’t know for how much longer the composure that’s always somewhat surprised him in Ben will last, now his patience has grown this wafer-thin, but he doesn’t need to wait too long to find out.

“Fuck this,” Ben grunts, when at last he snaps. “They’re closed. I’m going back.”

Finn glances up just in time to see him disappear in a mood back onto the main street, off which the teal-hued alley is set; it ends in a heavy gate haphazardly painted a gaudy shade of yellow that he and Ben had, until this point, been stood in front of waiting. Beneath the hurried paint job, the gate looks to be made of an ore. In places the blistered licks of enamel are peeling to reveal a rusted metal beneath, speckled green like oxidised copper. The whole effect is of something worn out and just as Finn begins to feel the same way, he hears a faint crackle.

“Yes?”

“Um,” Finn stammers in response to the modulated voice transmitting through a corroding commbox he hadn’t noticed at first, mounted to the right of the shabby gate. “Hello?”

The commbox crackles again as whoever’s on the other end switches the unit for a moment from voice reception mode to transmit.

“State your business.”

Finn turns back towards the mouth of the alley. Ben’s still off in a huff. Finn takes a shallow breath, speaking quickly and quietly into the receiver.

“I’m here with a friend. We’re here to use your… Services.”

Finn gives the Ben-less space behind his left shoulder another nervous glance as the commbox sputters to life for one more time.

“Enter.”

The dilapidated gate swings inwards and Finn ducks through as soon as the gap is wide enough, and suddenly Ben is there too, stealing in behind him. Finn sighs with relief.

“I don’t wanna know,” Finn begins, already knowing and not shy to mutter again about it as they walk through a narrow corridor towards an inviting glow that sits at odds with the slightly claustrophobic and wholly uninviting atmosphere of the hallway, “How you knew that, but I’m glad you did. Because I really did not wanna have to go out there and find you, and convince you _yet_ _again_...”

“Sorry,” Ben mumbles.

The journey from Han’s old apartment to here has been similarly interjected with bursts of Ben’s cold feet and, knowing that, Finn progresses quickly down the hallway now, keen to avoid eye contact in case it’s this which keeps setting Ben’s nerves off tonight. Even when they reach the end of the corridor - when the confined space opens out into a modest-sized parlour - Finn continues to avert his gaze just in case. But at least by now he has an excuse to look somewhere else than at Ben.

Because the hallway was understated but this place is great, and once again Finn feels an odd contrast between the drab, slightly tacky appearances they were met with on the outskirts of the holo-hotel and the ones much deeper inside it. Polished stone surfaces in an array of colours surround them, and warm white light emits from a series of variously sized, interlocking halos that slowly revolve near the ceiling above their heads. The overall effect seems, to Finn, kaleidoscopic. Dreamlike.

But he wonders if really this is not a surreal effect - an ambience - so much as what a thing he's never seen actually looks like: a nebulous. A nice one. Like maybe the one he’s heard tales about in the Kaliida System. He’s never seen that, although he must have been shuttled right through it hundreds of times before the war ended, for so many years confined as a stormtrooper to the parts of ships that don’t have external windows. Ben might have seen it, though. He’s a pilot. Probably Ben has seen it. So maybe Finn should ask him.

He glances at Ben for the first time since they entered the place Ben chose for their first real date. But Ben’s still staring anywhere else than at Finn, appearing now excessively interested in the plain white circular seat in the centre of the parlour, which instinct seems to have driven them both towards.

As Ben continues to stare, Finn detects a scent in the air that bizarrely, given their current surroundings, reminds him of home-cooking. The kitchenette all the way back inside the apartment. The place he and Ben first embraced. Affection for Ben fills Finn's heart then, and he opens his mouth to ask about the nebulous. But before he can begin, a sleek-looking droid appears before them. In its mechanical hands it holds a small device. The droid extends the device to Finn, and he accepts it.

“Good evening, sirs,” the droid leads with an air of formality, inclusive of Ben even though Finn strongly suspects Ben hasn’t yet looked at it; his eyes still appear glued to the circular seat. “Please sit here and browse at your leisure from our menus. When you are ready, make your way to the desk where your selections will be entered and we will organise your payment. An escort will come for you and then your elected time in a location of your choice will begin.”

The droid bows at the men before gliding back to a minimalist desk several feet away. Finn takes a seat, still looking very carefully at Ben. He still seems very bashful.

“Come here,” Finn coaxes, his voice as quiet as it was outside when he first spoke into the commbox.

But Finn doesn’t stammer anymore, like he did then. The voice in his ears is smooth and assured, and the deep, steady tones of it elevate his confidence enough to be able to overlook Ben’s shyness at last. He reaches out for Ben.

And for the first time since they left the apartment - the first time since they woke up together on the sofa - Finn touches him again, pressing his fingers to Ben's outer thigh then curving his whole hand around it. Applying pressure, then pausing. Until eventually Ben's knee gives just a little, and Finn's hand can guide his body closer.

Ben sits down beside Finn, less nervous now but still edgy, and watchful. Watchful of Finn as he begins to swipe through a series of images on the device the droid gave him. All of the images depict the interiors of bedrooms.

“No,” Ben murmurs, finding his voice again after a long while of watching. “We don’t want this, go back… Find _locations_ …”

Although Finn still holds the device in his lap, it’s Ben who navigates the menus now until they are looking at a series of landscapes.

“It’s this,” Ben says, his voice still low, after skimming through another dozen or so of the stock images. “This one here. Ask them for this one, Finn.”

Ben looks up. His eyes reflect the myriad colours in the room, and for a moment or two Finn just stares at those eyes, imagining again a nebulous he’s never seen but wants to.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Ben whispers. “Go on.”

“This was your idea. You should be the one to ask.”

Finn doesn’t really know why he’s stalling. He’s not nervous anymore, like he was outside. He’s calmer here, and still feeling confident. It’s Ben who still seems anxious, although he’s settling. So maybe Finn is stalling now because this is actually nice; just sitting here with Ben and doing nothing else really but waiting for the next thing to happen. Whatever that will be. Just existing with Ben in a moment that isn’t stressful or threatening. That isn’t full of doubt or worry. That’s just peaceful. And kind of almost happy. Exciting.

“Please, Finn?” Ben whispers again. “You’re a lot more charming than me.”

Finn snorts.

“What’s that got to do with anything? We’re talking to _droids._ We don’t have to be _charming_...”

“But we should be, and… Well, you are. You are charming. Finn.”

Ben’s eyes are wide and clear and full of an earnesty Finn’s always known was in him, but never really seen as plainly as this, beneath the halcyon lights of the parlour. And not because it’s an order - just because he cares about Ben - all of a sudden Finn does find himself obeying his request; standing up and making his way to the desk. Placing their selections with the droid and fixing the payment.

And not long after that, the pair of them are on their way down another understated hallway, escorted by another sleek-looking droid, until they all reach what looks to be a transparent magnetic shield, the kind that gate hangars, and through which at first Finn thinks he can see nothing but open and infinite space.

“Your key is your palm,” the droid says to Finn, as he indicates an access panel.

Then the droid leaves them alone.

“Are you ready?” Finn asks, turning his eyes to Ben, who nods.

Against the panel Finn presses the palm of his right hand. The magnetic shield opens and the men step through into a space that is still pitch dark, even though the over-spilling light from the hallway is now illuminating a small section of surface below their feet. This surface appears to undulate, and not at all to sit flat, or be in any way regulated, like the polished floor of a building should be. And when Finn lifts his eyes from his feet, and stares ahead into darkness, the light of the hallway behind him already seems miles away.

The shield reseals and Finn can see nothing at all now in a black so dense it must be solid. But the only thing solid is beneath his cautious boots; ground that feels stable, and must be because when he moves his heels, there is something there below them, grounding his body. Something stable enough to hold him steady but that also gives way to his weight when he shifts it. Perhaps like the way sand yields. Definitely not like the brutal way the hard floor of a building resists. And nothing at all like how he imagines he'd feel in open and infinite space.

“Follow me,” Finn hears Ben say from not far away, in a voice unlike any he's used since they left the apartment.

Finn feels Ben's hand close firm around his own, and then Ben begins to lead him through an entirely synthesized version of the planet Odona. Not one inch of which Finn can see. And against all his instincts, Finn lets himself be taken away by a man who in this darkness just might be the only other living, solid and stable thing here besides himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Next chapter catches up again with Rey and Lando.


	65. Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 14. Part 3 of 6. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey grows stupendously bored without Ben and Finn around until she remembers the beef she still has with Lando.

Rey drifts back to the kitchenette, opens the ‘serva and peers inside it with no intention whatsoever of taking anything out, even if there were things to take; it’s as empty as the rest of the apartment now that Ben and Finn are gone and she’s so bored she wonders if she’s dead.

“Perhaps the holo-Lasat did kill me after all,” Rey grouses to nothing but air, but real air this time; last night she let the cat go out too, and she hasn’t seen it since.

She releases the door and watches the opening narrow excruciatingly slowly until the seals close with a damp-sounding suck. Then she meanders back to the sofa and flops down on its edge, scoots herself backwards ‘til her trousered arse meets the pillow-back and stretches out her legs.

Rey gives her bare feet a very long and vacuous stare until the idea forms inside her head that maybe the joint of her left big toe hasn’t always stuck out like it seems to be doing now. And now that this easy-to-overlook and rather far-away part of herself is at the fore of her mind she notes the mild ache in it too, as well as a reddening callous blooming beneath the swollen knuckle.

Is that a bunion? Her boots must be rubbing. She hasn’t been wearing socks with shoes as often as she used to and never when she fights at the club. When she's there doing that there's only a thin film of szona-glove fabric between her feet and the ever-shrinking thickness of the gorvath-wool of her boots.

So maybe that’s what she needs to be doing tonight: buying special socks to fight in. Instead of just sitting around here growing so uncharacteristically starved of things to do indoors alone that she’s resorted to bunion-spotting.

Rey’s stomach growls, reminding her of the other reason she first wandered into the kitchenette; perhaps she should also get food while she’s out. Try the Meltdown again. Maybe even go there first and then go get socks. A really good pair, thick and cushioning. So next time she fights for Lando her boots won’t hurt her poor bunion.

At the thought of Lando, Rey frowns as she slides off the couch into purposeful action at last, to go and get a pair of Ben’s socks. Because even if it is just a short-term solution, why put up with substandard footwear when she can scavenge something better, and when she knows Ben does have a lot of pairs of perfectly good socks for the taking?

 _But they're really rather big,_ Rey thinks, staring at her legs in the mirrored wardrobe door now she’s pulled on the first pair she’s found, and noticed the heels settled almost halfway-up her calves. _He does have rather big socks. And other rather big things... For the taking..._

Rey grins slyly as she reaches inside the wardrobe again for her jacket, pulls on her boots and leaves the apartment with Ben's rather big socks on her feet and his rather big other things for the taking still on her mind. And not so unusually her thoughts drift to Force-connecting.

What are they doing now? She almost made Finn promise before they left, and out of earshot of Ben, to give her a play-by-play when they returned, but at the last minute held her tongue.

 _So don't undo all that now,_ Rey urges herself, as she nears the end of the stairwell. _They won't thank you for intruding, so for Maker's sake just stop it..._

Because she could all too easily just check in now on Ben without him knowing - he still can’t block her, even when he tries - but hasn’t she just taken a literal fucktonne of time to hack together a reason to do something other than Force-raid his secrets? Still, acquiring some new fuel for the fantasy-fire...

 _“Stop it,”_ Rey repeats, aloud this time for greater impact. "Fucking hell. That’s _not_ why you’re out here..."

The crux of this plan, the catalyst for finally making one - the really rather big thing that Rey knows she's been avoiding not just since Ben and Finn left but since it happened, and the only thing really that's driving all this agitation in herself right now - is her unresolved conflict with Lando.

He is the reason Rey’s out here now. This is not really about socks or food or getting off although each of those things would satisfy a need, and while she will definitely satisfy the first two, and may yet include the third by the end of this night, she won’t be doing any of that until later. Rey has a laser axe to grind with Lando and now is the time to go and grind that. And _nothing_ else.

So when she reaches the bottom of the stairs and exits the apartment building Rey doesn’t head right. That’s not where she knows Lando lurks. That’s not where she remembers he first emerged on the very first night they met. Lando had approached from the other side of the street, the side she and Ben and Finn have so far never ventured down together. Rey's only ever been down here alone.

And it might be too much to hope for, that Rey would leave the apartment on little more than a whim to see him and then somehow, like fate, he would just be out here, waiting for Rey to find him. But aren’t her senses another way of determining things like fate? And something inside her is pulling her this way tonight...

Rey can’t be certain - she’s only ever seen him twice, and both times their surroundings were very dark - but she does suspect that on each of those separate occasions Lando wore the same clothes. Come to think of it, Rey wore the same clothes, too, but she fixates on that idea now as she starts to peer down each lane she passes, occasionally spotting a figure or a droid or a roach-rat down the end of one. But not Lando.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Rey mutters to herself, into the quiet of the night. “Melodramatic. How could he possibly…”

Even at the club, when Rey fought the Lasat, and the spots in the arena which lit it like a comet threw the rest of the interior into stark darkness by comparison... Well, how could she really be sure of what his clothes had been like then? He’d still seemed proud. His clothes were still fine. But were they different? 

Something pulls her again. Rey turns her back on the alleys. Her eyes find movement. Slowly and with a slight limp, a familiar figure is making a path back up the opposite side of the street. Back towards the popular districts. Rey watches 'til he's almost out of sight and then she crosses after him, careful to keep her sturdy feet light so the sound of her footsteps won’t give her away.

She’s not entirely sure what the stealth is for. Rey’s never felt threatened by Lando. Intrigued, yes. Infuriated, absolutely. But he’s never given her a reason to fear him. If anything, she might pity him now. Just another old smuggler who still reminds her so much of Ben’s father.

“Hey!”

He stops before he turns around but it takes him awhile to do that. To Rey, it’s as though his feet need to steady themselves before they then change direction, which seems to take him time. And in that time Rey closes the distance between them until she is stood there on the pavement, not two feet from him, looking straight at the worn features of his face, and how they’re thrown into stark contrast by the amber of the holo-lamp directly above them. 

And that’s rather opportune because Rey can see clearly now the creases in the finely tailored clothes he wears, and the grime beneath his nails when he rubs at the greying stubble gracing his proud chin.

“Good to see you,” she says, in a tone not entirely free of contempt.

“Do tell,” Lando replies, his own voice smooth but Rey can tell beneath its surface that something equally acerbic is only just concealed, “What happy fortune brings the two of us together again like this?”

“I have a bunion,” Rey levels, and again she’s just following instincts. “I was out buying socks for that. And... I was also quite hungry so I thought I might also buy some food. Something warm.”

“Warm?” he repeats, a little too quickly and then it seems to Rey as though he catches himself doing that and slows down, and the rest is said with more control and self-awareness, “Well perhaps, young lady, you’d be willing to let an old man take you out and shout you that something warm? Least I could do.”

“It certainly would be,” Rey deadpans, thinking back to the club and the holo-Lasat and the seemingly unscrupulous way he’d set her up for defeat the other night. “But I don’t need charity.”

She hears him shuffle his feet on the oil-slicked cement of the street. But sooner than draw attention to his clear discomfort at her mention of charity, Rey adds, “Do you know though, what I do need?”

“Socks?” he parries, eyes glinting.

“Your word, Lando Calrissian. That you will never pull a stunt like the one you tried to pull on me the last time I worked for you. Because you need me. You know it. And now I know it, too. And if you ever try that again… Well, I don’t think you’ve forgotten what happened the very first time you tried to cross me, have you?”

“No,” Lando says quietly, as he shifts a hand to his throat. “But beautiful, this is not a one-way deal. And I need things, too. I wasn’t kidding before when I said I was prepared to shout you, if you’ll let me. Not that I’m saying that you couldn’t shout an old man like me if you really wanted to. You’re earning all my hard-earned money, after all.”

Rey smiles.

“Actually,” she says, “I’d be happy to.”

And still with a headful of questions, and a gutful of doubts, Rey sets them aside again for now and walks with Lando up the street on a course for the Meltdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Next up is a Ben POV, back inside holo-Odona with Finn.


End file.
